


BloodCam

by hollo



Series: Blood Trails - BloodCam AU [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Spectrum at least he's somewhere in there, Blood, Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Cam Show, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Cutting, Developing Relationship, Edgeplay, Fetish, Keith is sex-disinterested, Knifeplay, M/M, Non-Sexual Sadism, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Scars, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, THERE IS AN ACTUAL PLOT NOW, THIS IS A REAL STORY that does story things, a relationship develops, algolagnia, asexual Keith, camshow, everyone is showing up, haematophilia, it's a lot more than kink I swear, it's actually kind of cute??, questionably sane maybe, sexual masochism, this is going ot be like 10 chapters or something, well more like Sadism Light maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:39:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 116,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8101003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollo/pseuds/hollo
Summary: -mind the tags esp Haematophilia and Algolagnia-It was Pidge who drew his attention to it, groaning at the pop up ad that had somehow broke through their ad blocker.“What sort of depraved bullshit is that,” She grumbled as she closed the window, but not before the site’s name was ingrained on Keith’s brain -DarkSinCams - along with a tempting teaser shot of a graceful neck pinched harshly in a  prong collar.Exactly the type of bullshit that piques my interests, Keith thought.Keith POV





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So - maybe the only reason I'm actually posting this is because I looked up 'bloodplay' in the Voltron tag and came to the realization that this story would NOT be the first with that tag, and therefore I was not alone. For some reason that meant posting this would not be...bad?
> 
> I hope you've minded the tags. The fic won't be inundated with bloodplay and sexual content but its comes in pretty heavy in this first chapter. There will be a ton of more adorable and otherwise Klance moments in this, so...  
> I'm still undecided how many chapters this will be but... it'll be a few. It was supposed to be a oneshot but that's not gonna happen.
> 
> Hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think!  
> Feel free to judge haha I'm judging myself right now
> 
> P.s. if you're so inclined you can find me on tumblr at [JustBloodCamThings](http://JustBloodCamThings.tumblr.com) Updates tagged as BloodCam fic (with spaces)  
> Now on Twitter - [itsdetachable on Twitter](https://twitter.com/itsdetachable) BloodCam updates will be tagged bloodcamfic
> 
> Oh and P.P.S  
> Algolagnia: sexual pleasure from pain  
> Haematophilia: sexual attraction involving blood (either on a sex partner/attractive person or the liquid itself) (but let's say this is the pyschological attraction/pleasure derived from/involving blood since the DSM doesn't distinguish that??)

 

It was Pidge who drew his attention to it, groaning at the pop up ad that had somehow broke through her ad blocker.

“What sort of depraved bullshit is that,” She grumbled as she closed the window, but not before the site’s name was ingrained on Keith’s brain -  _ DarkSinCams _ \- along with a tempting teaser shot of a graceful neck pinched harshly in a prong collar. 

Exactly the type of bullshit that piques my interests, Keith thought, distracted now from the article Pidge was trying to show him. It was a highly detailed exploration of the newest test jet fighter, a topic that most days sat at the top of his lists of interests (he may or may not have a blog devoted entirely to posting pictures of jet planes), and yet he couldn't focus on it properly. Pidge noticed his disinterest after her third attempt to elicit some sort of response from him garnered only a half-hearted “Yeah that's cool.”

“You okay?” Pidge asked, turning her chair to face him with a slightly disgruntled expression on her face and whacking him in the hip with the armrest as she did.

“Fine. Just tired.” He replied, managing a woefully weak grin as he rubbed his hip. “Send me the link, I'll check it out later.”

In hindsight, he should have nixed the grin; Pidge’s disgruntled look only deepened and she eyed him critically, as if she could read his mind through sheer will.

“Sure dude.” She said after holding his gaze for a moment, shrugging, and though he could tell she hadn't bought his lie she still turned back to her computer without further word. 

Sometimes it sucked, being two somewhat socially inept people sharing an apartment together, but this was not one of those times, and Keith was thankful Pidge wasn't about to grill him. She knew how to hassle him into a stuttering mess far too easily and he didn’t want to deal with that just then. 

“I'm gonna go heat up something to eat,” Keith said, choosing to make his escape while Pidge seemed willing to let things slide, and headed out of her room, “You want anything?”

“I'm good,” Pidge called back, screens already flipped back to the coding program and fingers flying over the keyboard. Keith hovered in the doorway a moment, biting his lip. Pidge seemed oblivious to his remaining presence, no shock there. The ad was still on his mind, however shining from the dark depths where he’d shoved all his questionable interests. It was ...tempting, and he’d been interested in so little lately...

“Are you going to that thing tonight?” He asked finally, and Pidge dragged herself away from the screens to shoot him a puzzled look, surprised to find him there still.

“Uh, yeah? I go every Friday night,” Pidge snorted, as if she couldn't believe he'd forgotten something so routine, and turned back to her work.

“Cool,” Keith saai, voice calm, but his pulse was racing as he headed back to the kitchen. He felt a pull he hadn't felt since high school, a longing need shuddering his body and making his skin itch.

Calm down, he told himself as he reheated the leftover Thai noodles from his lunch, It's not like you're going to do anything about it. You never do. Ever.

Except that when Pidge headed out the door for her weekly meet up - of what, Keith never bothered to find out - Keith found himself shutting his bedroom door and settling into his bed with his laptop. He'd actually closed the blinds as well, dimmed the lights, and plugged in his earbuds, nervous energy fluttering within him at the thought of what he was about to do.

“Stupid.” He muttered to himself, unable to shake the feeling of  _ wrong _ that was pervading him to his very core. That's what he got for spending his teen years in a highly religious foster family, he supposed. He'd been made to do penance for lesser sins than these.

But his curiosity had taken hold of him, a deep dark need growing within him, and there were no pious mother figures hovering around to shuffle through his browser history after he was done. He was twenty three years old, dammit, and had every right to indulge himself however he saw fit.

That, at least, was what he told himself as he tapped  _ DarkSinCams.com _ into the browser. The site popped up almost immediately, several teaser videos lined up for viewing and a large button blinking “REGISTER NOW FOR FULL ACCESS” directly below them. 

Keith but his lip, and decided he'd start with the teasers that night. Just to get a taste, see if it actually was something he'd be.interested in. He'd run into snags before, after all - some daydream fantasies needed to stay that, fantasies, without the real world interfering.

The teasers proved to be exactly what he liked, however. Ropeplay, bondage, a gorgeous domination scene that got him all tingly inside. None of them included sex, but seeing as that didn't interest him in the slightest it was no loss. No, he enjoyed them quite a bit, and he decided to go ahead and register on the site. It was free to use, with the option of buying tokens to pay the cam models with, and no requirements to include credit card information at registration either, which made him all the more willing to take a chance on it. The token payment system even ran through a secure third-party website that he recognized from his gaming days - who’d of thought they’d get involved in something like this?

On a whim, he bought fifty dollars worth of tokens, deciding that if he was going to spend his time ogling people he should give them something in exchange. It was only fair. He spent a moment looking over the profile options - there were no required fields other than his age, so he left it empty and moved on to browse the site.

An hour or two passed, and he had to concede that the teasers were obviously the very small cream of the crop. He'd spent most of his time scrolling through pages of thumbnails, sitting in on several cam sessions where the models did little more than chat with their viewers about mundane topics while in the middle of getting tied up or tied down or preparing to get tied up or tied down. A pet play session started out interestingly, only to devolve into an overacted bad porno twenty minutes in, and another show bored him so badly he actually fell asleep. He’d had high hopes for that one too - there weren’t exactly droves of cam models letting themselves be covered in hot wax. It was interesting  _ and _ aesthetically pleasing.

Eleven thirty, and he was ready to chalk the night up as a loss. He'd spared a few tokens to some of the models who'd been tied up, where the ropework was well done and just so pleasing to look at, but his hopes for finding something to really interest him had waned.

He couldn't believe he'd spent so many years skirting these sorts of porn cams and sex sites only to find out they were nowhere near as evocative and sensual as he'd imagined. Once again, the real world had taken his fantasies and proved them to be just that - fantasies. Maybe if he had even half an an ounce of sexual drive, maybe then he'd be able to get some sort of satisfaction from the shows. That's what they were being made for, after all, a sexual audience looking to get their rocks off. Maybe he wasn't able to get interested in them because they were catering to a different crowd, where everything and anything devolved in carnal desire after some point.

He sighed, clicking back to the main site, ready to call it a night. The grim shadow of disappointment hung heavy over him, especially after that thrill of  _ promise _ that the teasers had evoked.

Glancing at the Now Playing bar one last time, his eyes caught on something interesting. Several of the thumbnails were of the same stock as most of the ones on the site - a latex puppy mask, graphic nudity, whips and spread bars - but one in particular caught his attention. It was a simple, well taken photo of a knife’s blade covered in blood.

Keith might have made a sound at that, but he denied it to himself. Hovering his mouse over the thumbnail, he waited for the camshow title to pop up in the hover text -  **BloodCam.**

“How edgy,” He chuckled, but it was more to cover up the shuddering anticipation that had suddenly taken hold of him. He clicked on the thumbnail, biting his lip as he waited for the page to load. If bondage was one of the darker of his guilty pleasures, well hidden behind layers of feigned apathetic disinterest, bloodplay was it's  _ even darker _ and far more questionable cousin that he only allowed to visit his waking mind when his inhibition had been severely compromised, or in the deepest part of the night when he could convince himself no one would ever find out what he was thinking. 

Oh, he’d had the urge to search for it before, but even then, the furthest he'd gone in that direction was to Google “bloodplay” several times. He'd only actually clicked on a link  _ once _ and that was only to confirm that no, he was not crazy and yes, this was a fetish that existed in the world. He wasn't alone. He was weird, very very weird and creepy and possibly a bit disgusting, but he wasn’t alone.

He'd never indulged himself with actually seeking it out this level. But there he was, waiting for  **BloodCam** to load, unable to push back the wave of intrigued interest that had crashed into him at the sight of that bloody blade.

Of course, if his luck held up, the show was certain to be horribly disenchanting and a total let down.

With that thought in mind, he sighed and glanced at the camshow description. It was short : 23/M/Bloodplay. Keith wasn’t sure if that boded well or not, but there were already over two hundred viewers in the chat. It couldn’t be  _ that _ bad, he decided, and allowed himself a small sliver of hope.

The stream connected finally, video flashing to reveal a bedroom, well lit though the feed was a bit grainy. The bed had pale sheets on it, Keith couldn’t tell if they were straight up white or cream, and the walls were a pleasant cerulean color. The contrast between the two was nice. He couldn’t see anyone on screen yet, but a voice cut in as soon as the stream turned on.

“-but seriously don’t fuck around with people’s drinks. Not worth the lawsuit and also it’s fucking rude?” 

The voice was distorted slightly, as if it was put through a modifier. The chat on the side scrolled faster, and Keith could only catch a few phrases - “fcuk vegans” and “weed out the weak” - before they were replaced with others questioning when the show would start.

“How about right now?”

A figure finally appeared on screen, leaning in front of the camera to lay something at the foot of the bed. Keith only caught a glimpse of an arm, a back, before the figure moved out of sight again. There were several ‘boos’ in the chat, but the figure returned almost immediately, climbing onto the bed and kneeling on it, facing the camera. He was entirely naked except for a pair of tight, blue briefs that left little to the imagination. A smattering of appreciative posts littered the chat screen.

“So before we start, I think you all might notice something different…” The person said in a sing-song voice, pointing to the gas mask he wore. It was all shiny black leather, the lenses tinted dark, with the filter cartridges positioned on the sides. It was sleek, industrial looking without looking too heavy, obviously not a standard issue gas mask. It was obviously stylized and looked utterly impractical, but though Keith wanted to scoff at the lengths this cam model went to protect his identity, he had to admit the effect was… effective? The contrast between the heavy industrialism of the gas mask and the clean looking bedroom should’ve been disconcerting, but Keith found it enticing instead. The model kept talking, but Keith tuned his voice out in favor of looking him over instead. There was a certain...something Keith looked for, though he wouldn’t be able to define it if asked. A ping on his interest meter, some sort of combination of bodily aesthetics that would grab his attention. He wasn’t in it for the sexuality, after all, but the sensuality would occasionally pull him in. What combination of factors were involved in catching and holding his interest, he still couldn't figure that out, but the more he looked at the cam model the more certain he was that  _ he had them _ .

The lighting was set up excellently. Keith could see the tantalizing play of light versus shadows over the man’s warm tan skin, darker at the indents of his collarbone, highlit across his shoulders and pecs. He was lean, but not skinny; his shoulders were nicely muscled, his biceps rounding pleasingly as he raised his arms to fiddle with the strap of the gas mask, and his abs defined enough to be noticeable without that harsh-lined definition some people had. His hips were narrow but his legs, or at least his thighs as that was all that Keith could see in that position, were nicely toned. He looked like he'd feel good to touch, firm but with a slight give, Keith imagined. Warm. Definitely warm.

The model shifted again, and that was when Keith actually noticed them - how hadn’t he noticed them sooner? All across the skin of the man’s torso and thighs was a network of pale lines, crisscrossing over his skin like an oddly uncoordinated spiders web, branching up over his pecs and out along his sides, lining down the inside of his thighs in a delicate filigree.

They held Keith’s attention, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from them - the juxtaposition of pale scars across that tan skin was gorgeous. The sheer amount of them was astounding; some were old and almost unnoticeable, while others were fresher, thicker and more pronounced, and each time the man moved it seemed that some faded from view while others became more visible. He was obviously cut a lot, and cut often, and…

Keith took a shaky breath, realizing that he had been holding it in. His heart was racing, and he licked his lips, settling into a more comfortable position on his bed. He was  _ excited _ . The depth of the visceral reaction was almost frightening, though - he’d fantasized about bloodplay for ages but he’d never expected to react quite like this. He tried to force himself to breathe evenly, but his imagination was beginning to get away from him - he couldn’t help but ry to think to think of how the show might go; was someone else going to join? That’s how it happened, right? Keith couldn’t be sure, he’d never actually learned more about it. His knowledge of bloodplay was tantalizingly lacking, and he felt nervous and intrigued and utterly hooked.

“So babe, I just wanted to say thank you for this awesome present.” The man was saying, and Keith was only paying attention again because the man had moved to pick up something from the bed, the gas mask growing large in the frame as he leaned slightly towards the camera.

“I’d blow you a kiss, but-” The man tapped the knife blade - he was holding a  _ knife _ \- on the front of the gas mask and laughed, “That’s okay, I think I thought of a better way to thank you.”

The chat was blowing up again as the man moved his body closer to the camera, angling the blade in its view. Keith tilted his head, peering curiously at the screen, almost blinked - almost  _ missed it _ when the man pressed the tip of the knife into the skin above his heart and cut in a swooping curve. He put the knife tip back to the starting point and cut again, this time symmetrical and opposite to the first. Blood beaded along the cuts, ruby red and vibrant in the lighting. The man dropped the blade and touched a finger to those red drops, smeared them across the skin within the heart-shape he had cut to stain it red. He hovered there for a moment, the reddened, blood lined heart large and perfectly in focus in the frame.

“All right then,” He purred as he leaned back after a moment, voice low and inviting. “How about we get this party started?”

“Fuck.” Keith breathed out, breathed in again, breathed out louder, but it didn't take away the tension in his body. He was nearly trembling with it, and it felt  _ good _ , and he couldn't help but wonder what in hell was wrong with him.

Then the man lifted another knife from among those played out in front of him, a serrated knife, and held it up within the camera’s view.

“This one?” He asked, head tilting. Keith’s heart skipped a beat, was he asking the viewers? The chat was moving ridiculously fast. If someone was requesting that blade, Keith couldn't see it. He'll, he didn't even know they could request anything. Could they?

It seemed they  _ could _ \- request after request lit up the chat, line after line of people practically screaming out suggestions, Keith couldn't keep up with them. Something was flashing along the bottom of the screen - and of course, the  _ incentives _ . He'd been so engrossed in the model he’d forgotten all about them. He glanced at the feed - there seemed to be an argument going down in the chat, the model was holding two different blades now, idly spinning them in his fingers and humming merrily as he waited for the hubbub to die down, and Keith took the moment to look down at the incentive bar.

It was so ridiculously bare he had to snort - at $50 was the highly imaginative First Cut, at $175 was Requests, and the final goal of CLIMAX!!! (exclamation points included) sat at $750. Most models had at least a dozen goals on their incentive bar, both to pique the interest of sometimes unruly and fickle viewers and to keep it, and Keith would have thought this guy an idiot for having so few options - until he realized the paid tokens were well past $250. 

The stream had been live for barely half an hour.

Keith’s eyebrow twitched, he struggled through another breath and wondered just what was going on in this show that had people throwing money at the guy before he even actually got started… 

The chat had reached a decision, the model tossed down the thin bladed filet knife and held out the serrated blade for inspection by the masses.

“Good choice,” Keith groaned, unable to believe himself and unable to believe what he was watching and unable… He bit his lip, felt his heart pick up again as the man leaned a little into the camera again. He pressed the blade against the skin right below his pecs, dead center of his torso, and dragged it lengthwise, leaving thin scratches of snagged skin. The chat scrolled fast again, but Keith only saw it in his peripheral vision; he was far more distracted by the tiny beads of blood welling up in dots along the length of the scratches. 

Then the model laughed, amused at something, adjusted his grip on the knife handle and brought the blade down again - this time following one of those scratches like a guide. Skin parted easily, the edges of the cut slightly jagged, and blood welled up in the blades wake. 

Keith shuddered, feeling dizzy and jittery at once. That cut couldn't have been too deep, it couldn't be too deep, he thought, because if it was then the model wouldn't be able to keep going but he  _ did _ \- lining the blade up with the next jagged line and cutting smoothly once more, repeating the process until there were five cuts, each several inches long, each weeping thin beads and rivulets of blood.

“Fuck,” Keith whimpered, clutching a hand in his hair. He told himself it was because of worry, of disgust, but the truth lay in the thrill that radiated through him as the man pressed his fingers to the cuts and smeared his blood down across his stomach. Keith could see the way the man’s body trembled, the slight catch in his breath as he thumbed along this cuts again, bringing more blood to the surface.

“Oh yeah…” His voice was a low murmur made staticky by the modulator, sensual,  _ aroused _ . “Whats next?”

Keith could imagine the cheeky grin that accompanied those words as the man spread his hands wide, fully on display. Blood stained his fingers, the cut heart still beaded ruby droplets, and the smear on his stomach was like a red arrow pointing  vulgarly to his crotch. And fuck, the guy was getting hard already, his dick pressing out against the fabric of his blue briefs. Keith might not have the sexual drive to be turned on by that sort of thing, but the fact that this man was getting off on nothing but the… the pain? the cutting? the attention? sent a shuddering wave of pleasure throughout him anyways. It was just the right juxtaposition of his interests, god it was almost too perfect. His mind couldn’t handle much more of this.

“Now why would I do that?” The man laughed suddenly, leaning over and making a show of choosing through the items on his bed. “If I disembowel myself the show’d be over for good, right? Is that what you want?”

He said it easily, as if he was talking about taking out the garbage or feeding the cat and not about someone suggesting he literally kill himself for their viewing pleasure. Keith wondered what the hell he’s gotten himself into, again, but he stayed put, eyes riveted to the screen, waiting to see what happened next.

“Aha!” The man said, and holding up a large, thick handled knife. “That’s a nice one, isn’t it?”

Humming to himself, he twirled the knife in his fingers, the movements so well practiced they seemed languid,  _ lazy _ \- and then plunged it directly into his stomach.

“Shit!” Keith's heart stuttered, he started so hard the laptop slid off of his lap onto the bed, and he was - he was about to - he didn’t know  _ what _ he was about to do but he was very close to doing it.

But then the man was chuckling, his chuckles turning into all out laughter, and straightening up he pulled the knife away and revealed himself to be  _ fine. _

“Sorry, couldn't help myself.” He said, holding the knife out and pressing it against his palm, showing how it collapsed in on itself. “I saw it in the dollar store and I knew I had to have it!”

The chat was blowing up  _ again _ \- Keith saw multiple lines of “WEAK” and several people mentioning getting heart attacks (it was good to know not everyone on the chat was a psychopath), but there were just as many people laughing at the cruel and yet entirely appropriate joke the man had played on them. 

Keith was right on board along with the heart attack people - even if he had to grudgingly admit the joke was perfect given the context. 

“Okay, who’s next?” The man asked, idly flicking fingers across the cuts on his torso, coating his hand in the blood and running it down his stomach. “Come on, don’t be shy people!”

Keith glanced at the chat, noting that while there were many suggestions, most of them came from the same group of several people. The urge to join in tickled at his brain, his fingers itched, but… he couldn’t do it, could he? The man was asking for requests, he was going to  _ cut himself _ based on them. He was going to hurt himself  _ for people _ … Keith knew he was trying to dissuade himself from the idea, but he ended up doing the exact opposite. If he spoke up, if the man actually did as he suggested… The thought alone was making him shudder again, making his breath stutter. Wiping a hand across his forehead - was he sweating? Really? - Keith bit his lip and, despite his nerves, typed out a question, keeping it as concise as he could:

**BlakPanther35** : do u have anything w/wooden handle?

Hands trembling, he told himself that the guy would probably miss it, it wouldn’t be surprising. The chat moved so quickly Keith’s message blazed to the top - and out of sight - in seconds. Deciding that he was safe - safe? - and with itch in his fingers now taken care of, he settled back to see what happened next.

The man cocked his head, and said in a sweet voice,

“You’re new, aren’t you BlakPanther35?” 

Keith froze, reeling back from the screen - how the hell did he catch that? How did he notice him? The man chuckled, leaned over to look at the knives laid out before him, and Keith could barely breathe, could only watch in stunned silence as the man picked up a thin bladed, wooden handled knife.

“Does this work?” The man asked, his voice low and suggestive and setting off a tremor in Keith’s spine and a flush in his cheeks. It felt surreal, somehow it was horribly intimate - as if it was only him and the model, as if the man could see him through the screen. It was impossible and illogical, and it made him shudder in such a sweet and pleasurable way that he knew he couldn’t stop, not right then. 

Hands shaking, Keith tapped out a simple YES, sent it without hesitation. 

Should he have used all caps? Did it matter? Did he sound too eager? He was getting lightheaded from it all, he hadn’t been anticipating this sort of attention.

“Good choice,’ The man said, running a finger along the knife’s edge. “I  _ like  _ this one. Tell you want, since you’re new around here, why don’t I give you a proper welcome and let you pick the spot…”

Oh god,  _ oh god _ , Keith was going to die if his heart beat any faster. This could not be real, it could NOT be real, there was no way it was but the man had cocked his head again, in the other direction, twirling the knife in his fingertips. He was  _ waiting _ , Keith realized, despite the multitude of flashing messages in the chat, crying out requests, he was waiting  _ for him _ .

Biting his lip, trying to keep from whimpering like his body wanted him to, Keith typed out his response. 

**BlakPanther35** : L SIDE 3RD RIB FROM BOTTOM

Was that too exact? Should he have made it more general? Keith gripped the sides of his laptop, leaning in slightly, expectantly, and this time the whimpers came, light and airy with each breath. 

“Do floating ribs count?” The man chuckled, groping along his left side. He turned to the camera a bit and positioned his knife. “Like that?”

**BlakPanther35:** YES 

Keith typed out, faster this time because he was struggling to breathe, he was struggling to think, he needed this moment to be over. He didn’t feel like himself, he felt like some strange beast that lived inside him had grown during the cam show, filled his body and had now shoved its claws into his brain and was taking control of him. This couldn’t be him, asking a total stranger on the internet to cut himself, to  _ hurt _ himself for him, and being entirely enraptured by the thought. This couldn’t be him, even though it was, it totally and absolutely was, but he’d deal with the consequences it would have on his morality later.

The man adjusted again, moved slightly closer to the camera, and pressed the knife to his side. The thin blade dug into his skin easily, too easily, it must have been  _ sharp, _ and he cut just along the line of the rib in a smooth swoop. Blood welled up behind it, dotting and slightly spilling over the hair-width cut, and it was glorious. Keith didn’t think he could handle looking at it any more, just a few seconds was overwhelming. That was for him. That was for him. He did it  _ for him _ and Keith knew he should feel disgusted about it, about all of it, but all he felt was a strong and permeating sense of  _ satisfaction _ and  _ connection _ and  _ pleasure _ and so many other things. He rarely got emotional but there he was, squirming on his bed because he couldn’t understand how to handle the weight of… of… of whatever it was that was cutting right through him to the core and filling him with this unbelievable sense of… of  _ YES. _

Elated as he was, he forced himself to breathe, to settle down, forced himself to prepare to watch the rest of the show in a pleasantly delirious fog, fully expecting the man to continue on with the requests. The chat was still blowing up, after all, the tokens slowly filling the incentive bar, and yet -

The man hummed a tune to himself, slowly running a finger along the cut he’d just made, smearing the blood a bit. Keith didn’t know what he expected, if he expected anything at all, but it certainly wasn’t the man dotting the blood in two spots above the cut  and then pulling the lower edge of the cut down so it resembled a bloody smile.

Keith was dead certain he died at that moment, in some way, shape or form. All the pious religious mothers in the world couldn’t save his soul now. 

More requests piled in, the chat racing faster, but Keith couldn’t keep up with it anymore. His heart was pounding heavily in his head and he was swearing steadily and repeatedly under his breath. He needed to do something with his hands, so he threaded them in his hair and clutched tightly, tried to bring himself back down to earth with that pain but it was useless. Every few moments the model cut again, every few moments he smeared his blood across his skin, fingers playing over the curves of his pecs, his abs, trailing down along the lines of his thighs. Keith couldn’t stand how perfect he looked, lit up so brightly, bloody and cut up, like a horrifically vulgar painting, the contrast of light and shadows and color saturation almost surreal. God, there was no way this was real, that this man was real, that he was really there, on screen, so gory and glorious. Keith didn’t believe, he couldn’t believe it. He’d wake up and it would all be a very dark, very gory,  _ very questionable _ dream. But fuck, he’d enjoy it while he could.

The model had stopped with the knives, and Keith tried to count the cuts on his body. It was difficult, the blood had been smeared around so much, but he could still make out the smiley face cut on the man’s left side, and his heart sped staccato fast at a mere glance at it. Oh god he was in too deep. How the fuck was he going to recover from this?  
He licked his lips, watched as the man cupped his crotch with one hand, blood smearing along the hard line of his dick where it pressed painfully tight against the fabric of his briefs. Vaguely, Keith noticed the incentive meter topping out, the final goal flashing CLIMAX !!! at the bottom of his screen. The model chuckled, the chuckle turned into a low moan as he stroked himself through the fabric. The chat was furious, and while Keith’s interest in sexual release was limited, he found himself looking forward to _this one_. 

The man stroked himself again, finally pushing his briefs down to let his dick bounce free. It wasn’t a bad dick, Keith had to admit, it was a lot like the man himself - long and firm, pleasantly depressing under the man’s fingers as he grasped himself tightly. Aesthetically speaking, it was one of the nicer dicks he’d seen in his life, and god he was grateful for that because he didn’t want to be pulled out of this delirious sense of sort of ecstasy he was currently in. He never wanted to leave this place again.

It didn’t take long for the man to cum, another thing Keith was thankful for. No unnecessary “sexy” dialogue, no over the top positioning, just moaning, more groping along the cuts on his body with his free hand, smearing the blood all the more, and then he was cumming hard, body shuddering visibly as his dick twitched and spilled across the sheets. 

Keith sat in a daze, watched as the man closed off the show, promising breathlessly to be back next week. The stream cut out and the chat started emptying, and still he sat, breathing evenly but somehow still caught within the web of emotions that had come on so suddenly and unexpectedly during the stream. 

It was an  _ experience. _ He groaned, loosening his fingers from his hair and running his hands over his face. He felt lightheaded, slightly dizzy, like he’d just ran several miles uphill and found himself somewhere where oxygen was lacking. 

What had he gotten into? What had he fucking done? He could still see that cut, that damned smiley face cut - and that feeling came again, sickly sweet and pooling inside of him, and despite it all he found himself grinning, cheeks heating as he remembered that moment, the odd intimacy, the knowledge that it was done  _ for him _ .

That delirious high came back, not as strong but just as sweet, and he knew it in his bones - he was  _ fucked. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me tell you my pals writing something even vaguely sexual is really hard when you're uh... disinterested for the most part in sexual things.  
> And yes, i'll reiterate, Keith is getting a mental high in this but its not in regards to a sexual thing. It's like... paraphilias, they're a weird beast... and this is like.. mental paraphilia...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We need to recognize that for some people sex is great and for some sex is horrific and for some it’s on par with folding laundry.”  
> (~Sex Isn’t Always Good by queenieofaces)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wanted to say thank you to all you wonderful people who left comments. They were a pleasant surprise and I'm so glad you all enjoyed.  
> So glad, in fact, that I went ahead and got the next chapter ready.  
> This was a doozy. Every time I went 'okay that's enough scenes' another one decided to pop up. Oops.  
> That being said - ENJOY! 
> 
> P.S. You can find at on tumblr at [itsdetachable](http://itsdetachable.tumblr.com)
> 
> Now on Twitter - [itsdetachable on Twitter](https://twitter.com/itsdetachable) BloodCam updates will be tagged bloodcamfic

Keith spent all day Saturday feeling jittery and paranoid. He had the irrational and overwhelming feeling that if anyone looked at him at just the right angle they'd be able to see exactly what he'd been up to the night before. It didn't help his nerves that he hadn't woken until nine, and then laid in bed rethinking his entire life until well past eleven. He’d eventually managed to drag himself out of bed to go make something to eat, motoring through the motions without putting much thought into them.

“You need to toast the toast if you want toast.” Pidge said with a snort as she pushed past him on her way to the fridge. 

“Hngh?” Keith answered intelligently, blinking at the pale slices of bread in the toaster a moment longer before looking at his friend.

“The toast, you gotta…” Pidge pulled open the fridge and, holding it open with her hip, mimed pressing something down with with two fingers, slowly.

“Oh.” Keith said, and after an embarrassingly long pause he pressed the lever in the toaster down.

“I'd be worried if this wasn't a regular occurrence,” Pidge said, pulling a can of soda from the fridge. “The getting up at noon on a Saturday and  _ not _ going for a run at seven in the morning, however? Not a regular occurrence.”

Keith’s eyes flickered to her and their eyes met for a moment. She raised an eyebrow and Keith bit his lip.

“I, uh, watched a show last night,” Keith said, turning his gaze back to the toaster and hoping she didn't notice the slight hesitation.

“A show huh?” Pidge had noticed, he could tell it in the way her voice lilted at the end of her question. She was a predator at heart, after all.

“A good show.” He muttered and immediately regretted it.

“A good show,” Pidge parroted, and laughed. “Must have been to throw  _ you _ of your schedule.”

Keith braced himself, waiting for the inevitable interrogation, but Pidge merely grabbed a bag of chips off the counter and squeezed past him again.

“I got a raid in five,” She called back as she headed to her room. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Keith sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The cam show still stood out vividly in his mind, the memories surreal. 

“Be back next week,” He muttered softly, the man’s voice echoing in his mind. 

 

-

He _was_ back next week, and the next, and the next, and the next…

-

 

“Look what I got!” The model was excited today, Keith could swear he could  _ see _ the man vibrating. He couldn’t help but grin at the way he presented a new knife, with a flourish and gasp of surprise. For someone who could be so sensual and sexual, he managed to be absolutely adorable at times as well. 

“I’m sure you can tell but I’m excited.” He said, voice bubbly behind the modulation. “I’m very, very excited. Do you want to know why?”

YES, Keith typed, along with a dozen other viewers. The man laughed, moving towards the screen and holding the knife up even closer. It was very clean and very shiny, with a wooden handle and a long thin blade. Keith liked it already. 

“This, see  _ this _ , is a  _ fugu hiki _ knife…” The man said in an almost reverent tone. “ _ This _ , my friends, is the type of knife they use to cut up that lethal puffer fish for sashimi.”

A Japanese knife? Interesting, he’d need to look it up later. Keith tilted his laptop screen to get rid of the glare from his lamp and settled back to watch.

“So they use this to get really, really thin slices of meat, you know?” The man pulled back from the camera, settling back onto his knees. “So I’m gonna… well, I’m gonna  _ try _ this, fuck, I’ve always wanted to give this a go…”

Several questions popped up in the chat, and he cocked his head as he answered, 

“Well, you know, sort of…” 

He angled the blade above his arm and made a long slicing motion.

“Just take the top layer right off.”

“No you fucking won’t.” Keith muttered, excitement bubbling up within his chest. “Oh no you fucking will not…”

“But where do I start?” The man asked, tapping a finger at the chin of the gas mask. Suggestions flooded the chat, and he hummed in thought. “No, not my stomach, no… Inside of my thighs? Nooo… I’m sensitive there and I wanna keep it that way. Okay, okay, outside of my thigh then.”

He turned to present his right thigh to the camera, raising himself onto his knees so his thigh ran perpendicular to the bed. With a low hum he ran long fingers down the smooth expanse of supple skin, then back up slowly and enticingly. Keith bit his lip, breathing deeply, anxious and oh so eager to see what the man would do. His heart was pounding in his ears and his fingers were tingling.

“Let's see how this works,” The model said slowly, sounding slightly breathless. It was the first cut of the night, it was something entirely new, and for the first time Keith saw that the man’s hand shake as he pressed a blade to his skin.

It couldn’t have been from nerves, because his first cut was easy and smooth, a gentle draw against his skin only a couple of inches below his hip. It was practically invisible, unseen, but then the man lay the blade nearly flat against his thigh and pushed forward slowly. The cut became visible then, a thin sliver of skin pushed up over the sharp edge of the blade, the line of it slowly darkening. Reaching over, the man pinched at that tiny flap of skin and lifted it slightly, pushing the blade further forward and under it as he did so in one, long stroke.

“Ohhhhhh fuck,” He laughed, sounding surprised, as the sharp and thin blade sliced a layer of skin off of the entire length of his thigh, about an inch or so in width. He flicked his wrist and cut it off just above the knee, lifting the loose skin high in front of the camera like some morbid party streamer. It was smeared in blood on one side, twisting into itself as he held it out. 

Keith groaned and pushed the laptop further from him, he was finding it hard to breathe and he was so  _ hot _ all of a sudden. What had once been a nervous welling of pleasure inside of him had grown over the weeks until it became a hot bonfire of pleasure permeating through his body and deep into his bones each time he watched the show. God, he loved it, loved watching the man and loved seeing him gory and loved the way it made him feel so  _ alive _ and so  _ good _ .

“Holy fuck do you see that?” The model laughed, still holding the strip of skin. Blood was welling up within the cut slowly,  _ slowly _ , droplets pooling in torturous half-time across the bright, raw strip of rent thigh. 

Keith wanted to lick it. He covered his mouth instead and whimpered. At least he wasn’t the only one - the chat blew up with people begging to ‘clean up the mess’. 

“Shit.” The model said, he was breathing hard but his voice was happy. He tossed the strip of skin aside and turned his attention back to his thigh. “Oh fu-uck…”

His words faltered as he pressed his hand against the thigh just to the right of the bleeding path and thumbed against the first inch of it. His movements were gentle at first, but Keith could see him trembling again, his heavy breathing audible. After a moment he pressed the thumb against the cut hard, and blood welled up around it.

"Oh fuck," his words were one long moan, and Keith had to bite his lip to keep from mimicking him too loudly as the model swept his thumb down the length of the cut, blood streaming down his thigh in front of it.

"Oh shit that's good " The man breathed, and Keith had to agree. He couldn't look away from that gorgeous sight. The blood trickled the last couple of inches down to the sheets, tiny dots of crimson sprouting beneath the man’s knee.

“Oh that's good…”

  
-

 

“It’s a duck pond.”

“I’m sorry sir, am I hearing you correctly?” Keith rubbed a hand over his aching eyes, “The address you’re at is a duck pond?”

"Yessir. Just take a listen.”

There was a fumbling on the other end of the line, and then a clamor of angry quacking filled Keith’s headset. He groaned, eyes rolling to the ceiling as he prayed for the sweet release of death.

Working dispatch at a mid-sized third-party logistics company had started out as a temporary job, but oddly enough he’d found himself growing quite comfortable in the position. His hours sucked - 5am to 1pm Sunday through Friday - but on the other hand, he didn’t have to deal with people. Well, not face to face at least. Best of all, the dispatch team was rewarded for getting their calls completed accurately and  _ quickly _ , they were even given a loose script to follow, and that meant there was absolutely every reason for him to be terse in conversations with the drivers who called in with updates. For once in his life, his social awkwardness was  _ rewarded _ .

Most days at least. That day, the fates were apparently doing their best to piss him off. He already felt horrible, shaking with cold chills and fighting a massive headache, and now they were giving him the ultimate test of his patience - a driver directed to the wrong address. Or rather, he conceded as he looked over the load information on his screen, the  _ right  _ address but the  _ wrong _ location.

“Sir, can I put you on hold for a moment?” Keith asked wearily once the quacking on the other end of the line subsided. “I’m going to give the receiver a call to find out what’s going on, I’ll be right back.”

“Sure thing son.”

He didn’t even have the energy to roll his eyes at that. Tapping the hold button, he released a long breath and rubbed his face with his hands. Was his forehead hot or were his hands just cold? The office was always freezing, and he couldn’t tell which it was. After a long moment of staring blearily at his computer screen, he remembered that he was supposed to be calling the receiver on the load. Wearily he punched in the phone number and waited for the call to connect.

“Finnigan’s Warehousing.” A mildly pleasant voice answered.

“Hello, this is Keith from TriCity Logistics,” Keith began, trying not to sound like death warmed over and failing miserably. “I’ve got a driver who’s scheduled to deliver to you, but he seems to be lost. The address he’s at has a… duck pond?”

“You know, this isn’t the first time this has happened, and I’ve told you people dozens of times before that you need to update your files…” The pleasant voice turned grating, the woman on the other end of the line rolling into a rant that had Keith’s ears ringing. He punched the mute button on his phone and pushed his headset just slightly off of his ears - he could still hear her clearly despite it. Groaning loudly, he slumped back in his seat, covering his face in his hands. Someone snickered behind him.

He wondered if anyone would give a fuck if he just got up and left.

 

-

 

He did have a fever. He only realized it after he'd finished his shift and sat down in his car to drive home. The sudden movement from sitting to standing, and then standing to sitting, made his surroundings sway, and he sat there for a full five minutes before he even started the car. God, he felt horrible. The headache had never left, and now the pain was pulsing within his skull. He entertained the thought of collapsing in the back seat and sleeping until his body no longer felt like a trainwreck, but scratched that after a moment. He should go home, home was comfortable and no one would be inclined to call 911 if he fell asleep in the couch. With a weary sigh he made his way onto the road.

He couldn’t even remember the trip. Somehow he made it back in one piece and stumbled up the steps to the apartment. Pidge was in the kitchen, heating something on the stove, and she turned a questioning look his way when he entered.

“Woah dude, you look like  _ hell _ .” She said, looking like she was midway between concerned and amused.

“Do we have any… tylenol or something?” Keith asked, leaning against the wall. It was cool against his cheek.

“I think so…” Pidge moved to a drawer at the counter and pulled it open. “How’re you feeling?”

“Hot.” Keith said. “Bad. My head hurts and my throat’s starting to.”

“Sounds like fun.” Pidge shut the drawer and opened a cabinet instead. “Here we go, your new best friend.”

She grinned as he walked over and held out a bottle to him.

“NyQuil’s for colds.” He said blearily as he took it from her, staring down at the bottle. 

“And flu.” Pidge said, tapping at the word on the bottle. He squinted but the words were blurry in his sight. “Which is what is sounds like you have, minus the sniffling. Although I suppose part of your headache might be stuffed up sinuses…”

“Whatever…” Keith said, pushing off of the wall and heading for his room. “And thanks Pidge.”

“No problem,” She called as she went back to her food, leaving him to stumble to his room on his own. He hadn’t been sick in ages, and he’d forgotten just how much energy it drained from him. Kicking off his shoes, he pushed the door closed, took a swig of the medicine, and promptly passed out face down on his bed.

 

Wakefulness crept up on him slowly, and it took a long moment for him to realize he was staring up at his ceiling. It was dark, and the lights of cars passing on the street outside lit up his room in sweeping intervals of light and dark. Groaning, he rolled onto his side and looked at his clock. Ten thirty PM. How the hell had he been out for eight hours? At least he felt a bit better, his head seemed clearer and barely hurt anymore, though he still felt like his body had been thrown under several buses, and his throat felt like someone had taken a scrub brush to it.

Oh, and despite feeling like absolute crap, he was also  _ starving _ .

Heaving himself out of bed, he made his way out of his room. The lights were on in the living room and kitchen, and the sudden glare blinded him as soon as opened the door.

“Ugh,” He groaned, shielding his eyes with his arm as he stumbled out into the living room. 

“Keith?” Pidge’s voice reached him from… somewhere, but he was reluctant to open his eyes again to the glare of the lights to look for her.

“What?” He responded, voice rasping. His throat felt swollen, making it difficult to breathe and talk.

“I thought you were going to be out forever.” Pidge said, and Keith could hear her footsteps growing nearer. He lowered his arm and looked out warily into the room. It seemed his eyes had finally adjusted enough to see without wincing.

“I went to wake you up to eat something, and you didn’t even move.” Pidge eyed him critically. She had her jacket on, a beanie pulled over her wild brown hair, and he fixed her with a puzzled look.

“Are you going somewhere?” He asked, feeling like he was missing something. Pidge rolled her eyes and patted his arm.

“Yes, Keith. It’s friday night.” Pidge reminded him with a chuckle. “I left some toast out for you because I figured you’d be a zombie and wouldn’t be in any shape to make something yourself, but you can eat it now since you’re up.”

“Friday?” Keith asked blearily. The stream, he thought.

“Yes, Friday.” Pidge gave him a shove towards the couch. “Go, sit. Do you want anything on your toast?”

“Guacamole.” Keith called back, wincing as his throat flared in pain at the effort. He clambered onto the couch, ending up leaning half onto one of the end pillows and staring at the blank screen of the television. He fucking hated being sick. 

“There you go you guac loving freak,” Pidge said as she deposited a plate on the coffee table in front of him, two slices of guacamole slathered pieces of toast on it, and a glass of orange juice. “Now, you need anything else before I head out?”

“You’re being really nice…” Keith muttered, poking half-heartedly at the toast.

“I know!” Pidge said brightly. “I’m kind of surprised at myself.”

“Can you bring me my laptop?” Keith asked, pushing himself up to sit less slumped over.

“Are you going to stay up all night looking up conspiracy theories instead of going to bed and resting like a normal person?” Pidge asked. Keith looked up at her, saying nothing, and for a moment they fell into a silent staring contest. “Ugh, fine, I don’t have time to argue with you. I’ll get you your stupid laptop.”

Pidge stomped off to his room, and Keith leaned over to grab the remote from the table. He had the TV on and turned to the History channel by the time Pidge returned. She rolled her eyes and set his laptop on the table.

“All right dude, I’m out.” She said, heading for the door. Keith grunted a reply and eyed the toast in front of him. He didn’t feel like eating. He felt like rolling into a hole and wallowing in misery until this stupid sickness passed. Still, his body was hungry even if the thought of food made him want to gag, so he choked down the toast and guac and chased it with the orange juice as quickly as he could. None of it made him feel better, and if anything his throat felt even  _ worse _ than before.

Groggy, he pulled the laptop closer on the table and powered it on. It was just about eleven by then, not much longer until BloodCam’s stream started. He wasted some time checking his blog, got lost in part of the show playing on TV - Greatest War Pilots of the 20th Century - and by the time he managed to get his attention back to the thought of the stream it was getting close to midnight.

Fuck. He was missing it. Shaking his head to clear it, he pulled up  _ DarkSinCams.com _ and navigated to the stream. The chat was already moving, and the model was sitting cross legged on his bed, arranging the knives on his bedsheets into patterns.

“Little slow tonight, huh?” the man asked, lifting a large slicer and checking it's edge. Keith glanced over at the chat; it was moving at a steady pace, but there were only about a hundred-fifty viewers, far fewer than usual. “Seems like someone’s having a party and forgot to invite me.”

The man sounded positively peeved at the thought. He picked up three smaller knives, weighing them each in one hand for a moment before leisurely beginning to juggle them. Keith gave an appreciative grunt at that - how many talents did he have? 

“Bet  _ their _ party doesn’t have a naked guy juggling knives, though.” The man said. Keith chuckled, eyeing the man's bright blue underwear, and with a cough reached over to type

**BlakPanther35:** technically ur not naked

“OH, touche,” The man laughed, and then added amiably, “And there you are, you’ve been quiet today.”

**BlakPanther35:** sick

“Aw babe, I’m sorry,” The model caught the flashing knives effortlessly, one after the other, and tilted his head towards the camera. “Anything I can do to make it better?”

Lots, Keith thought, his heart speeding from the attention. He still got that, that fluttery feeling in his stomach and the pleased little ache in his chest whenever the man turned his attention to him, like he was middle schooler on the playground talking to his crush. God, he was a loser. It had been  _ six months _ and he still wasn’t over it..

**BlakPanther35:** just do you

Did that make sense? Keith wasn’t sure, but he didn’t really have the energy to think too hard about words at the moment. The cold or flu or whatever it was had sapped his strength and he was having trouble thinking straight 

“That I can do.” The man said. Laying the knives in his hands back down, he reached over and picked up the now-familiar wooden handled knife. “Here, just for you.”

For him? Keith huddled closer to the screen, watching with bated breath as the man held his right arm out closer to the camera. For the first time, Keith could clearly see the tattoo on the inside of his wrist - a dashed line with ‘cut here’ above it in small, blocky print. How fitting. Gently, the man pressed the knife’s blade against the skin just below the tattoo, pulled the blade gently and slowly down the inside of his right arm, the skin depressing under the blade until it broke through. The cut seemed shallow, blood gathering in it slowly, but Keith still got that sweet, warm feeling inside that came with the knowledge that  _ this  _ had been done for  _ him _ . There was something oddly intimate about it, about the placement of the cut - though Keith could see the lines of old scars along the man’s arm, he couldn’t remember him ever cutting his arm on the stream. The thought that what he’d just done was out of the ordinary fluttered around his brain, and when the man spoke it only intensified the feeling.

“Feel better soon, hun,” The model said softly, and Keith’s heart  _ hurt _ \- he’d never heard the man speak like that to anyone else. He’d never seen him cut like that before. Oh god, his mind whirled around the thought that - that this  _ meant _ something, this soft cut, this soft tone. 

Breathing shakily, coughing when that breath caught in his aching throat, he reminded himself that this wasn’t some private conversation but a public stream. The model was in it to make money, and he wouldn’t be getting paid unless he was charismatic, and caring, and connected with people. This was all just part of the show.

The thought was disappointing, but Keith attributed the odd weight of melancholy that fell on him on the illness instead. Laying on the couch, head on the end pillow, he ignored the trembling emotion in the pit of his stomach and focused back on the show. The man had moved on as the incentive meter pinging over the Requests goal, and Keith felt his eyes slipping closed as the familiar sound of the man’s voice soon lulling him to sleep...

 

The next thing he was aware of was a loud voice cutting into his brain and shocking him awake.

“Keith I swear to god if you stayed up instead of going to bed like I told you to…”

Keith jerked upright, head spinning, disoriented and feeling like he was trapped in vertigo. The laptop was still on the coffee table, and he realized several things in rapid succession: the stream was still live,  _ the sound was on,  _ **_and Pidge was entering the living room_ ** . In a blind panic he threw himself towards the laptop and nearly fell off the couch. Pidge by that time had reached him, and whatever words she was saying cut off in a sort of strangled choking sound as Keith dragged himself over to the laptop.

“What the fuck is  _ that _ ?”

Keith slammed the laptop shut, pulse pounding in his head. This was not happening, he thought, he was not living through this. This was a dream - a very bad dream - and Pidge had NOT just walked in on him with his laptop set to a livestream where a gas-masked model covered in blood was dragging a knife across his stomach. No.

“Keith.” Pidge said, her voice steady and her tone unreadable. “What was that.”

Keith glanced at her for a moment, eyes wide, but looked away quickly. The History channel was talking about submarines now. Submarines were great. Not as great as planes, but they were great.

Pidge cleared her throat, but he continued to ignore her, as if that would make the whole incident vanish without a trace. He couldn’t believe it, he could not believe that this was happening, right then, right there. He tried to steady his breathing but started coughing instead, painful coughs that rattled his chest and left him breathless.

Pidge sat down next to him on the couch as his coughs subsided, and he tensed as he saw her reach for the laptop. The wild idea of stopping her, grabbing her hand and begging her not to do it, raced through his brain - but by the time his dulled senses had reacted she was already lifting the screen open. The laptop kicked to life immediately, the stream loading several seconds later, and he closed his eyes and wished he was anywhere,  _ anywhere _ but there as the man’s voice cut in again, breathless and moaning.

Several moments later he could hear the click of the laptop being closed again, the voice cutting out along with it. 

“So.” Pidge said, far too calm. Keith could feel the  _ wrongness _ of the situation prickling his skin and chilling his heart. He sat frozen, waiting for her reaction, waiting for the disgust and the anger, but all she said was, “So, that’s a thing.”

Despite the coolness of her words, he felt the panic rising inside him. Pidge knew now. She knew. How the fuck was he going to get out of this one. He was trembling at the thought of just how much he had fucked up. They’d known each other for years now, but all that time was shot to hell now. Fuck. He dropped his face into his hands.

“So, it’s a sex thing?” Pidge asked.

“No.” Keith said, his voice muffled against his palms. “I… I mean yes, I guess, but… but not for me…”

“Huh.” Her tone hadn’t changed since before, even and collected. Too collected. This wasn’t the Pidge he knew, this wasn’t the reaction that Pidge would have had, and that solidified his feverish conclusion - he had ruined it, ruined everything between them with this one, horrible mistake.

“Okay.” He could hear her get up, her weight leaving the couch. “All right, so. I’m going to go to bed. Now. I’m going to bed now and I will see you in the morning.”

This is it, Keith thought morosely as he heard her walk away. It was over.

 

-

 

“Keith I know I made you a sandwich yesterday but you’re really pushing your fucking luck if you think I’m making you breakfast!” Pidge yelled from the kitchen. Keith eyed the bedroom door warily from where he lay bundled in a nest of blankets, chewing on the edge of one and trying to decide if he was brave enough to face the day. 

He wasn’t, he decided. He didn’t know how he could look Pidge in the face after the night before. He dug himself deeper into his blankets but -

“KEITH.”

Fuck. That was not a tone to ignore.

Disentangling himself from the blankets, he made his way out of his bedroom and into the living room. Pidge was in the kitchen, and she shot him a disgruntled look through the pass-through.

“I know you’re sick but I’m not going to baby you.” 

“I know that,” Keith said as he walked over into the kitchen, Pidge watching him all the way. He hovered in the kitchen entrance, eyeing Pidge warily. She was giving him the same look back, like she wasn’t sure what to expect.

“Are… are we going to talk about…” Keith said, running a hand along his arm nervously.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Pidge asked, sounding just a bit distressed. Her fingers fidgeted around the mug she held in her hands, and after a moment she added in a low voice, “He’s okay, right? The… the guy…”

Keith stared at her blankly, not really understanding for a moment. Why would she think he wasn’t okay? It took a while, but a thought he’d never even considered came to him, and he cringed.

“Did… did you think that was like… a  _ snuff film _ ?” Keith’s voice cracked at that. Pidge flushed brightly, pale cheeks turning a brilliant red, and she stammered out,

“No! I mean, maybe! He… had the a knife, and I mean there was blood like everywhere…”

“Fuck, no,” Keith hurriedly cut her off. “No, he’s  _ fine _ . I’m pretty sure he’s fine? He does it every week, so the… the cuts can be that bad.”

“Oh god.” Pidge let out a shaky breath, and then surprisingly enough started  _ laughing _ . “Oh my god. Okay.”

Keith could only watch her for a moment, highly disoriented and puzzled. He couldn’t understand why she seemed to relax all of a sudden, that anxious awkward feeling dissolving almost instantly with the laughter.

“I mean… it’s probably not much better than… than  _ that... _ ” Keith muttered. 

“Keith, you weirdo,” Pidge’s laughter had died down to chuckles, “I feel like I should have known? Your thing with the knives.”

Keith balked at that, responding indignantly, “I just like them okay. They’re… they’re nice.”

Pidge chuckled as she put her mug down and stepped closer to him, and for the second day in a row shocked the hell out of him - this time by wrapping him in a hug and patting his back. 

“Let’s just acknowledge that the both of us have some really weird… uh, interests, and never speak of this again.”

“Okay,” Keith mumbled, awkwardly hugging back his shorter friend. After a moment he asked quietly, “Wait, what are yours?”

“ _ Never speak of this again Keith. _ ”

 

-

 

Monday morning found Keith back at work. He wasn’t in top form, but he’d missed his Sunday shift and he hated sitting around at home feeling crappy. He could sit around at work feeling crappy and get paid for it, especially now that he no longer had a massive headache and his fever had gone. Well, that might not have been a good excuse. He was still getting paid to sit around at home when taking a sick day, after all. The truth was that despite his little chat with Pidge, things were highly awkward around the apartment. It would probably take some time before they got back to normal, but he was just happy that Pidge didn’t seem to hate him. That was good enough for now.

His work speed was horrendously slow that day, but his supervisor was so appreciative enough of him coming to work that he wasn’t hassling him about his low call volume or long calls - he hadn’t been the only one to get sick that weekend and they were short staffed that morning. Still, he felt like he was wading through waist-high quicksand all morning, weariness and achiness dragging him down. Half the time he couldn’t focus properly, and as the morning dragged on he could think of nothing else other than getting home and going back to bed.

He was just finishing a call when his phone buzzed loudly, and he turned his  _ Away _ notification on to check on it, glad for the distraction. He was surprised to see that Pidge had messaged him - she usually tried to avoid bothering him at work.

 

GreenMachine (10:30am): isnt this ur dude?

GreenMachine (10.30am): (image sent)

 

Keith pulled up the picture Pidge had sent over - it was a screenshot of one of her regular chat boards, a simple post containing only a photo of -  _ shit _ , his eyes widened as he recognized the room, the gas mask, hell even the  _ knife _ the model held in their hands. Why was someone posting a screengrab of BloodCam’s stream? 

 

GreenMachine (10:32am): (image sent)

 

A second picture, only this time of a section of the post below the picture. Keith stared at the short message for a long moment before it clicked. Numbers, street name,  _ city _ -

 

Keefer (10:33am): WTF

GreenMachine (10:33am): so it is him???

Keefer (10:34am): YES

GreenMachine (10:35am): ur boy just got doxxed

GreenMachine (10.35am): been up since yesterday

GreenMachine (10:35am): how many psychos u think watch him stream?

Keefer (10:36am): fuck shit

Keefer (10.36am): shit

Keefer (10:37am): wiat that’s our city

GreenMachine (10:37am): u just noticed

 

Keith bit his lip, glancing at his computer. He hadn’t had a call in a while, and the next shift had just started. Maybe… He still felt like crap, if he talked to his supervisor he was sure the guy would would understand. He’d worked most of his shift already, and he’d barely used any of his sick days that year.

He opened the office IM system and sent his supervisor a short message. 

_ Still feel horrible. Can you manage without me? _

The response came almost immediately:

_ Go home and rest. Was surprised you made it in today anyways. _

_ Thanks _ . Keith typed back, and wasted no time in closing out his programs and clocking out. His phone buzzed as he logged off, and swiped it on again.

 

GreenMachine (10:39am): oh fuck no

GreenMachine (10:38am): dont fucking doit

GreenMachine (10:39am): no

Keefer (10:40am): im not dong anything

GreenMachine (10:40am): u bet ur ass ur not

GreenMachine (10:40am): sit back down and get to work

 

Keith was already on his feet by then, heading for the door as his supervisor shot him a sympathetic look. It was nice working with decent human beings, finally.

 

Keefer (10:42am): im sitting

Keefer (10:43am): and working

GreenMachine:(10:43am): omg

GreenMachine (10:43am): u get back to work

GreenMachine (10:44am): and after work u come straight home

Greenmachine (10:47am): keeth?

Greenmachine: (10:48am): ????

Keefer (10:53am): okay

GreenMachine (10:53am): ur in ur car already arent u

Keefer (10:54am): im vry sick im dying

Keefer (10:54am): comng to wrk today was bad idee

GreenMachine (10:55am): i am kicking ur ass when u get home

 

It took about half an hour to reach the address, and Keith was gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his hands ached by the time he got there. 

What was he even doing? He knew he was acting irrationally - that wasn’t new. It was pretty standard, actually, but still… he shouldn’t be here, parking in front of an old three flat building, about to go up and ask the man he watched injure himself on the internet every week if he was okay. It was creepy, he was just as bad as… as anyone else that might have gotten it in their head to show up.

He told himself, firmly, that he was here to check on the guy, to  _ help _ , which made it a bit less creepy and much more… more… philanthropic. No, that was the wrong word. Whatever. He just wanted to make sure the guy was okay, that none of the psychopaths with bright ideas in the chat streams had gotten it into their heads to show up and do something about it. Once he did that, he’d get right back in his car and drive home. That’s what he’d do.

He took a deep breath, coughed, and ran a hand through his hair. Anxious energy gathered in his stomach, but he was on a mission and he was not going to let something like nerves get in his way. So he got out of the car and headed towards the building before him. It was a pretty standard century-old three flat, with a faded-yellow brick facade and stone steps leading up to the front door. He neared it warily, noticing that a man was hovering on the landing, skinny and greasy looking. Keith could feel his hackles rising at the mere sight, his jaw clenching. Setting his shoulders, he strode up the steps with purpose, and the man turned to gave him a frightened look as he neared.

“Looking for someone?” Keith asked, narrowing his eyes at the man, crossing his arms across his chest. 

“Uh, y-yeah,” The guy stammered, backing a step off. “But it doesn’t look like he’s in.”

“What a shame.” 

“Yeah, I guess I’ll try later.” The man hurried off the steps, sending a frightened look back over his shoulder. Keith watched him get into a nondescript coupe and waited there on the landing until he saw him drive away. 

For all he knew, this creep might’ve been hanging around the house for another reason - the neighborhood wasn’t exactly  _ good _ \- but he still felt the thrill of a job well done. At least the guy hadn’t made it in. Grinning to himself, he turned back to the door then. It was wooden, but the main frame was all glass, though it was painted in various colors and he couldn’t make any shapes out behind it. He looked over to the side where the doorbells were, but they were only labelled by apartment number. He wouldn’t have any luck there, and there was no way he was going to ring every single doorbell until he found the man.

Great. Once again he found himself run into a dead end thanks to his impulsivity. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair and thought about heading home. He was obviously not going to be able to find anything out… unless…

He looked back at the door, something catching his eye and… yes, the door - the door was ajar. He glanced around quickly, realizing that what he was about to do was absolutely and totally trespassing, then placed a hand on the door and pushed. It swung open with a slight creak, revealing a small foyer with two doors leading off of it. Both of them had frosted glass set into the top half, and both of them were slightly ajar as well. Moving slowly, Keith entered the foyer and pushed the door closed behind him.

There was silence inside, and he stood uncertainly on mosaic-tiled floor. This was a mistake, he thought, he shouldn’t be inside. Desperately, he glanced around the foyer, unsure of what he was looking for but certain that when he saw it, he’d know it. There were metal mailboxes on the lefthand wall, labeled with names he was too far away to read, and a simple milky-glassed light fixture hung above his head. The two doors still stood ajar, and peering through the gap in the lefthand one he could see a staircase leading up. A door opened, somewhere, and he could hear footsteps nearing him from behind the other door. Quietly he backed away towards the front door, unsure of what to expect.

The righthand door swung open sharply, and a man stepped out, dressed in a loose and faded band tee and dark jeans, his right arm sporting a large bandage. He pulled up short when he saw Keith, but his shocked expression quickly turned fierce. Keith opened his mouth to say something, introduce himself,  _ apologize _ , but all of a sudden a gun was pointed at him and all he could see was the light glinting off of metal. He jerked his hands into the air, holding them out placatingly and hoping that the man wasn’t trigger happy. It had been a very long time since he’d had to practice disarming an armed person, and he wasn’t quite sure how well his reflexes had held up over the years.

“Who the fuck are you?” The man demanded, holding the gun pointed somewhere around Keith’s chest in a sure, steady grip that showed he was far too comfortable with it and more than certainly knew how to use it.

“Keith! My name’s Keith,” Keith looked up at his face and for a half second time stuttered. It had to be  _ him _ , because by this point Keith would be able to recognize that shade of warm tan skin  _ anywhere _ . He’d often wondered about how the man looked under that gas mask, whether he was as handsome as his body or not, but the real deal was before him now and for once in his life the real world did not bury his fantasies.

He was good looking, not male model, photoshop perfection good looking but  _ natural _ good looking, which in Keith’s humble opinion was absolutely better; his face was well shaped if not exactly symmetrical, sharp chinned, his short brown hair was mussed wildly, and his eyes - they were so blue they had be unreal. Keith desperately hoped it wasn’t obvious just how badly he was ogling him.

“What do you want,  _ Keith _ ?” The man was obviously on edge, and Keith couldn’t blame him. He just wished he’d drop that gun, it was setting off alarms in the back of Keith’s head and he was tempted something awful to do something about it - try to disarm him, maybe, anything - and that could not end well.

“You.” The man raised an eyebrow at that, and Keith winced. There was a whole sentence that went in front of that, and he took a breath and tried again, “I mean, I came to check on you, I think it’s you… came to see if you were okay.”

“You came to see if I’m okay?” 

“Yeah.” Keith didn’t blame him for sounding so skeptical, or for looking him over like he was gauging whether he could take him or not. He tried to think of some way to defuse the situation - maybe he could tell him his screenname? Would that help?

Before he could, there was the sound of a key turning in a lock, and Keith just managed to step out of the way as the front door opened. The foyer was really too small for three people, and the woman who stepped inside was obviously irritated. She was almost as tall as him, with her thinly-braided hair tied into several ponytails. Keith expected her to be surprised, but he didn’t expect her to roll her eyes with a loud sigh and shoot the gun-holding man a dirty look.

“Put that away, Lance.” She said, closing the front door loudly. 

“Shut up Nyma,” Lance answered, lowering the gun slightly to shoot her a dirty look right back. “Mind your own business!”

“Murders on my property  _ are _ my business,” Nyma answered, hands on her hips.

“No one is getting murdered okay?” Lance glared. “We’re just talking.”

Nyma didn’t respond, but the withering look she sent the man’s way spoke volumes. Grumbling under his breath, he put the safety back on and, after another pointed look from Nyma, tucked it into the back of his pants beneath his t-shirt.

“There we go, good boy.” Nyma said, patting his shoulder despite the fact that he was glaring daggers at her, and with a beaming smile at Keith that felt colder than it should have, she headed in through the left hand door. “Now play nice - and  _ no murders. _ ”

The gun finally gone, Keith lowered his hands slowly, the alarms in the back of his head quieting down. Good, he would have hated to accidentally start a fight when none was necessary.

“So are you serious?” The man,  _ Lance _ , asked, looking at him again. His eyes were very, very blue. 

“Uh, yeah.” Keith answered, coughing slightly. His throat felt dry and after talking all day it was starting to hurt again. “There’s some weird people online.”

“No shit.” Lance agreed, but he finally seemed to be relaxing. He leaned back against the wall between the two doors and eyed Keith critically again, brows furrowed in thought. “What’s your screenname, then?”

“Uh… I’m BlakPanther35.” Keith answered quietly, crossing his arms in front of himself nervously. He didn’t know  _ what _ he had to be anxious about but it was starting to come to him, the realization of just how ridiculous the whole situation was. 

“What?” Lance exclaimed, “ _ You’re _ BlakPanther?”

“Uh, yeah?” Keith replied, and though Lance was grinning now he still looked skeptical.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” Keith thought for a second, and added, “I kind of passed out during the stream on Friday so I sent you tokens on Saturday to make up for it.”

“Huh,” Lance said, the skepticism fading away. His grin turned less incredulous, more amiable. “You didn’t have to do that, you know?”

“It’s all right,” Keith shrugged, coughing again. “I’d feel bad if I didn’t.”

“Are you still sick?” Lance asked, and Keith thought he actually sounded concerned. 

“I’m fine, this cough just won’t go away.” He answered, trying to ignore the way his chest fluttered. Lance was still giving him that look, like he was sizing him up, and it was making Keith’s skin crawl. “What?”

“Nothing.” Lance answered quickly, and then his grin widened in amusement. “I just, I don’t know, thought you’d look different. Like, older.”

“Older?”

“Or a creepy mouthbreather dude.”

“ _ What? _ ”

“You know, heavy breathing on the phone, sweaty palms…”

“Why would you think that?” Keith asked, starting to feel offended. Was that how Lance saw him? After all this time? Okay, so they didn’t actually know each other but still, how in the world did the guy get “mouthbreather” from their interactions?

“You’re just really chill on the chat?” Lance said, shrugging, suddenly casual and easygoing. “And if you do say anything it’s… weird? Like, okay like the time you said something about liking the bone handle switch blade, you said it was well crafted?”

“It is.” Keith muttered indignantly, narrowing his eyes. It was  _ excellently _ crafted and Keith was totally jealous that he didn’t own it himself.

“Oh! What about the time you said you liked a cut because it made a nice angle contrasting with my hipbone? What was that? I almost lost my groove, I mean, it was totally out of left field?” Lance was laughing now, and Keith could feel his cheeks flushing as he went on, “It was so  _ specific _ and so like… Non sexual. And everyone else is, like, verbally masturbating in the chat…”

“Well maybe that’s why.” Keith snapped, a little harsher than he would have liked but he had not come here to be critiqued on his social interactions. “I’m ace.”

“What?” Lance’s grin disappeared, replaced by a wide-eyed puzzled look. “You’re ace?”

“Yeah.” Keith said, frowning slightly.

“Okay, right.” Lance said, blinking away the puzzled look and replacing it with that skeptical grin. Again.

“I’m serious.” Keith’s frown deepened, irritation rising. He’d been through some variation of this conversation far too often in his life.

“Then what are you doing watching cam shows on a porn site?” Lance asked, chuckling like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard.

“You don’t know much about asexuality do you?” Keith asked tonelessly, and Lance’s grin faltered a bit. Keith snorted, no surprise there, but added in clarification, “I’m not there for the… the sex part…”

“Oh great. So you’re just some weird non-sexual masochistic pervert then.” Lance laughed again, and Keith felt the flush come back to his face. “That makes me feel so much better about this little interaction we’re having here.”

“What, that somehow makes me worse than all the other perverts watching your cam show?” Keith retorted, and was pleased to see that once again he’d managed to catch Lance off guard.

“Okay, but…” His mouth set in a hard line and he gave Keith a hard, shrewd look. “I  _ know _ what  _ they _ want.”

“Oh my god  _ shut up _ .” Keith groaned - this guy was unbelievable - and started coughing again, even worse than before. Covering his face with a hand, he turned away slightly and mentally berated himself for this whole idea. Why the fuck did he think this asshole needed help? He’d probably be able to get out of any situation easily just by being a weird ass jerk. Pidge was right, he should’ve stayed at work, and headed straight home instead of wasting time here. At least no one would have waved a gun at him there...

“Hey, you okay there?” Lance asked, and there was that concern again, his voice losing any hint of laughter. 

“You’re obviously fine.” Keith wheezed, shooting him a dirty look, “So I’m just going to leave now.”

“...okay.” Lance said with a sigh, almost managing to sound disappointed. He might still have been grinning but his expression seemed to drop. Keith didn’t dwell to long on that, just turned back to the front door and took hold of the doorknob. Something stopped him, however, an unexpected thought that was, unfortunately, completely in line with all the major-creep-level things he’d done that day. Half turning back to the other man, he stammered out a question,

“Do… do you have your phone on you?”

“Uh… yeah. Why?” Lance asked, cocking his head - that movement should  _ not _ have sent shivers down Keith’s spine - and giving him a questioning look.

“I can give you my number… in case you need anything?” Keith tried to avoid looking at Lance’s eyes but they were blue and they were nice, and now Lance was grinning, a wide, cocky grin, and Keith couldn’t make himself look away.

“Are you sure about that?”

“My place is like, thirty minutes away or something so…” Keith answered uncertainly, then added hurriedly, “You don’t have to give me your’s, obviously.”

Lance eyed him a moment longer, looking amused, before shrugging and reaching into his front pocket to pull out his phone.

“Why the hell not.” 

Keith’s heart fluttered.

 

-

 

Keith called in sick on Tuesday, and spent the day laying in bed and wondering if he did the right thing. He tried to tell himself he shouldn’t get all worked up over the whole situation, but his thoughts kept turning back to that whole, uncomfortable affair. Why did he give Lance - _ his name was Lance _ \- his number? It wasn’t like he was expecting anything out of it, and it was super creepy. He was such a creep, holy shit. He had definitely avoided mentioning that part when Pidge grilled him when he returned the day before, he was judging himself enough for the both of them. For all he knew, and considering the dead silence, Lance was probably judging him too. He probably wanted to pretend none of it happened, and Keith was perfectly fine going along with that. 

 

-

 

???? (7:00am): (image of a carton of milk, the expiration date showing a date from three weeks before)

???? (7.00am): do i ??

Keefer (7:05am): wtf

Keefer (7:05am): is this you lance?

Keefer (7:06am): and no wtf do u like tempting fate

???? (7:08am): i dont no u tell me ;)

Keefer (7:10am): if u do it and u die

Keefer (7:10am): i wont even be sad

Actually An Idiot (7:11am): harsh

Actually An Idiot (7:11am): cold

Actually An Idiot (7:12am): i thought u were better than this

Keefer (7:13am): surprise

 

Keith rolled his eyes, answering the next call and pulling up the next load screen. The office was frantic that morning, someone somewhere had an accident with a trailer pulling hazardous material, and there were at least two trucks hauling loads of cheese that had gone AWOL and hadn’t been seen since the morning before. For some reason that was on the level of a state-wide emergency, and half of the dispatch team had been relegated to doing nothing but tracking. His call volume was distressingly large thanks for that. All three of his lines were flashing at any given moment, and he was starting to get palpitations as he struggled to answer calls.

 

Actually An Idiot (8:30am): okay but what 

Actually An idiot (8:31am): like what do you think dark matter is

Actually An Idiot (8:31am): ?

Keefer (8:33am): r u high or did u drink the milk

Actually An Idiot (8:33am): You’re not asnwering the question

Keefer (8:36am): im busy

Keefer (8:36am): at work

 

Was this guy actually serious? Keith was entertaining the thought of going by his place after work and letting him know  _ just how much appreciated his bullshit while he was juggling three calls and logging over forty calls an hour since he’d started that morning. _ After breathing for several moments, he admitted to himself that was a horrible idea, and got back to work.

 

Actually An Idiot (8:38am): so whats ur favorite color

 

Maybe he  _ would _ go after all. Gritting his teeth, and without thinking too hard about it, he furiously tapped out an answer and sent it back. He did not have time to deal with this non-sequiter shit today.

 

Keefer (8:38am): red

Actually An Idiot (8:39am): omfg imm

Actually An Idiot (8:39am): fucking dying

Actually An idiot (8:40am): lolollolol

 

Keith stared down at the messages, absolutely lost and confused, blocking out the driver who was repeating a question over his headset (“...but why is a load of underwear so critical to deliver on time?”) as his attention turned fully to his phone. What the hell was Lance finding so hilarious? So his favorite color was-

 

Actually An Idiot (8:40am): RED OF COURSE IT IS

 

Embarrassment flooded him, and he cursed under his breath as it suddenly made all too much sense. Angrily, he shut his phone off. And then, for good measure, he slid it all the way to the other side of the desk. It buzzed a few more times, but he ignored it and focused on his work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hand on my heart, every moment Keith describes at his dispatch job is based on a moment I myself have seen or experienced. Working in a logistics firm, especially on dispatch, is a WILD RIDE.  
> Also, I think I subliminally inserted more bloodplay scenes in this chapter because the next ones will have a lack of it. Sorry. But not, because I think you'll enjoy them anyways.
> 
> I debated putting that Ace quote up at the beginning, considering the subject matter of this fic - but then again, considering the subject matter of this fic, it was also fitting. If you were wondering, Keith falls solidly into the 'folding laundry' division.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was not supposed to be this long. In fact, I was writing happily and thinking "oh well, this is not going to be as long as the last one".  
> Well, I mean, I was right in the end...  
> Anyways, some more things happen. What else can I say? I'm sick with a cold, so I apologize if I've missed things while editing. Please let me know if there are any grammatical issues or anything.
> 
> Also, I'd like to take the chance to THANK YOU ALL for reading and commenting! This story has gotten WAY more attention that I thought it would, and I'm so happy to hear you all enjoy it. 
> 
> You can always find me on tumblr at [JustBloodCamThings](http://JustBloodCamThings.tumblr.com)
> 
> Now on Twitter - [itsdetachable on Twitter](https://twitter.com/itsdetachable) BloodCam updates will be tagged bloodcamfic

Giving Lance his number might not have been the brightest idea Keith had. He hadn’t exactly given a lot of thought to who was behind the gas mask over the past months, but what little he’d imagined of the man’s personality was nowhere near what it actually was. Keith could have expected the flair for dramatics, the cockiness maybe, but the mix of oddly deep non-sequiturs and random shit posting that flooded his phone from day one was absolutely unexpected. And to be honest, he’d anticipated the amount of texts to peter out eventually. Keith was trying not to be the creep here, and though he was aching to ask Lance about the whole doxxing situation - whether any other weirdos had shown up, whether anyone was hassling him - he kept his distance and only responded if Lance texted him first.

Lance, apparently, had no problem texting him. First, last, at random hours of the day or night. Case in point:

 

Actually An Idiot (11:30pm): (image sent - flash photo of small backyard filled with at least a couple dozen cats)

Actually An Idiot (11.30pm): my ppl have come for me

 

Keith had been _trying_ to sleep - he only had to be up in three and a half hours to get ready for work on time, no big deal - but Lance apparently had more pressing issues.

 

Keefer (11:31pm): ask them what took so long

Actually An Idiot (11:31am): ha ha

 

Keith rolled over onto his stomach and stared down at the text convo for a long moment. The typing indicator was flashing at the bottom of the screen, but nothing came over. He should have lain back down and tried to sleep, but it was already Thursday night and Lance hadn’t said a word about the whole… thing. Maybe it had been far less of an issue than Keith had thought, maybe he’d overreacted - but then he remembered how frazzled Lance had looked on Monday, how quick he was to draw a fucking gun when faced with a stranger in his building. No, Lance had been worried, and Keith wished he’d give him some sort of update. He wasn’t obligated to, though, it wasn’t like they were friends or anything. Hell, the fact that Lance was even texting him at all was a surprise.

Still… Keith breathed deeply, and making up his mind sent a message back:

 

Keefer (11.32pm): how r things?

Keefer (11.32pm): anyone else show up

Actually An Idiot (11:34pm): someone may have shown up

Actually An Idiot (11:35pm): and I may or may not have invited them inside for coffee

Keefer (11:35pm): wtf ???

Actually An Idiot (11:36pm): in my defense she was v cute

Actually An Idiot (11:36pm): and shy

Actually An Idiot (11:36pm): she asked for an autograph

Actually An Idiot (11:36pm): and we talked like forever

 

Great, Keith thought morosely. He shows up and Lance pulls a gun on him. A cute girl shows up and Lance invites her in for coffee. Quite suddenly he found his mood turning dismal.

 

Keefer (11:37pm): ur an idiot

Keefer (11:37pm): female serial killers exist

Actually An Idiot (11:38pm): I'm the idiot

Actually An Idiot (11.38pm): I can't remember

Actually An Idiot (11.39pm): who was it who came to my house unanounced

Actually An Idiot (11.39pm): and BROKE IN

Actually An Idiot (11.39pm): remind me

Keefer (11:41pm): the door was open

Actually An Idiot (11.41pm): that’s wat u say

Actually An Idiot (11:42pm): ur probably a career criminal

Actually An Idiot (11.42pm): anytime ur at work ur actually casing a joint

Actually An Idiot (11.43pm): that's why u work early

Actually An Idiot (11:44pm) sorry “work”

Actually An Idiot (11:44pm): so u can see what people's schedules are like in the morning

Actually An Idiot (11.45pm) so u can rob them easier

Keefer (11:47pm): OMG SHUT UP

Actually An Idiot (11.47pm):I knew it I'm right

Keefer (11:48pm): going to sleep now

Actually An Idiot (11.48pm): hahaha

Actually An Idiot (11:49pm): fine

  
  


Actually An Idiot (11.53pm): good night Keith :)

 

Keith stared at his name in the text convo for what seemed like ages, feeling all sorts of… feelings, somewhere within his ribcage. He scrolled through the texts like an idiot, but he needed to make sure - no, he was right. This was the first time Lance had called him by his name. For some reason that realization made warmth spread through his bones, made him grin into his pillow. What the hell was wrong with him. What the hell…

Slowly and deliberately, he set the phone on his bedside cabinet. No more distractions. He needed to sleep.

 

-

 

Keith wasn't sure how he felt about Lance streaming that Friday night. He had that itch of anticipation in his body, a low-level reverb in his bones and his joints. He wanted to watch - meeting Lance in person had done nothing to curb his cravings for the sight of cuts and blood on his body, and if it felt a little taboo now that he had it only added another layer to the thrill of it. At the same time, he was so aware of the risks involved now that he wondered why Lance would take a chance like this. Keith hadn't been the only one to find his way to Lance’s apartment, after all. And Keith had even went so far as to ask Pidge about that post, whether it had blown up or not, whether it had spread.

“There's a lot of weirdos out there,” She’d said with raised eyebrows and a shake of her head. That hadn't exactly been a comforting statement.

But there he was on his Friday night, holed up in his room with the laptop on his knees and the blinds drawn closed, earbuds on as always.  He had debated asking Lance why he'd go ahead with the stream, wondering what the man would say in response. Would he ask him why he cared? Keith wouldn't have been able to answer that, that was way beyond crossing boundaries… wasn't it?

Fingers tapping on the side of his laptop, he watched the Users Watching count slowly rise. It was just before midnight and they were already at four hundred viewers. Keith couldn't remember if the viewer count had ever risen that high before, though he honestly hadn't paid it much attention in the past months. After he'd started getting involved in the conversations, he'd begun to focus on the few screennames that popped up the most often. He'd even private messaged a few, though the only one he kept any actual contact with was the curiously enigmatic PrincipessaDeLeone. She was nice and the absolute opposite of vulgar, he would never have expected to find her watching a stream like **BloodCam**.

As if summoned by thinking of her, a private chat window popped up, flashing to get his attention.

 

 **PrincipessaDeLeone:** evening friend

 **PrincipessaDeLeone:** How are you doing tonight?

 **BlakPanther35:** I'm okay

 **BlakPanther35:** A little tired though

 **BlakPanther35:** How about you?

 **PrincipessaDeLeone:** I am doing well thank you

 **PrincipessaDeLeone:** Did you hear about the situation?

 **BlakPanther35:** the address?

 **BlakPanther35:** do you think it was real?

 **PrincipessaDeLeone:** I don't know but it was an awful thing to do

 **PrincipessaDeLeone:** I feel absolutely horrible, I’m worried for our model

 **BlakPanther35:** there are some real assholes out there

 

Keith sighed, turning back to the stream for a moment. Even with the unease on his mind, he couldn't help but appreciate the view. God, Lance looked good. There was just a tinge of embarrassment at the thought - he'd talked to the guy, he'd seen his face - but it passed quickly, brushed aside by the anticipation that always flooded his system as he watched the stream.

Lance looked good, Keith thought again, allowing himself to appreciate the dips of his abs, the swell of his biceps, the round fullness of his shoulders. He was lounging on his side that night, stretched out with his head propped on one bent arm. The lighting was spot on as always, and he looked warm and inviting, sensually unreal. This was his job, putting himself on display as some idealized fantasy - Keith wouldn't feel bad for ogling him. That, he told himself, would defeat the whole purpose.

“My week? I've gotta say, it's been pretty uneventful,” Lance was saying, his tone light and unconcerned. He lifted a long, serrated knife off the bed and tapped the edge against his neck. “But enough talk, yeah? Let's get this show started.”

Any further doubts Keith might have had were pushed away as Lance dragged the knife tip down from the base of his neck to the center of his chest in one, lazy curve, replaced with a hurried rush of emotion. The blood appeared almost instantly, lining the cut ruby dark and leaving the blade glistening. Lance laughed, and the droplets gathered and began to spill slowly down his chest, tiny tiger stripes of crimson across his tan skin. Keith breathed out deeply, leaning his head back against the wall and watching those tiny rivulets extend every so slowly.

He really shouldn't waste time worrying about things he couldn't fix, Keith told himself as he got lost in the ripple of light across the blood and the flicker of light across the next knife Lance lifted from the bed, and wondered if he really wasn't a bad person deep down inside...

 

-

 

The stream left Keith with mixed feelings, worry coiling within the warm afterglow suffusing his body. The show had been amazing, as always, Lance attacking himself with an almost callous abandon. Keith had found himself with a hand on his screen at one point, fingers reaching for something they could never reach, and he’d pulled it back, embarrassed. Still, even if the show was great, it didn’t completely chase away his doubts and concerns. There was something off in the way Lance acted, his movements a little too deliberate and his laughter a little too harsh when it came.

Maybe Keith wasn't as bad a person as he had thought, if he could still worry about the man while appreciating his work. He turned the laptop off, feeling restless with the worry, itching with uncertainty. The thought of texting Lance crossed his mind but he pushed it aside. He was probably cleaning up, he was busy, he might not even notice. And what would Keith say, anyways? “Are you okay” seemed vague and somehow personal at the same time.

Disgruntled and unable to sit still, he left his room to prowl the darkened apartment. He could watch some tv, or maybe he could eat something - he felt the need for _something_ , like a hunger gnawing away at him, but he couldn't piece together what. Reaching the kitchen he opened the fridge and stared inside it for a long moment. They only had a quarter of orange juice left and for some reason five jars of mild salsa. They were out of guacamole. Fuck.

Scowling, he shut the fridge door and just stood in the dark kitchen for a long moment. Nothing changed, either around him or in his head. He went back to his room finally, making a circuit round his windows to pull the blinds up, and only when he settled back onto his bed did he notice the indicator light flashing on his phone.

He grabbed it, swiping through the lock screen to see that several texts had come over while he'd been brooding away in the kitchen - and all of them were from Lance.

 

Actually An Idiot (01:01am): hey keith

Actually An Idiot (01.01am): a favor if maybe

Actually An Idiot (01.02am): ur still up can u txt me bck pls

Actually An Idiot (01.04am): please

 

It was that last ‘please’ that made the worry in Keith’s gut stir fitfully. Something in the tone of the texts set him on edge, and he wrote back quickly.

 

Keefer (01.10am): sorry i was in the kitchen

Keefer (01.10am): what do you need?

 

The response was almost instant, and continuous, and Keith sat up as he read the rapid fire responses, low-burning worry wafting into a fire of concern.

 

Actually An Idiot (01.10am): oh god ur awake ok listen

Actually An Idiot (01.11am): can u come over

Actually An Idiot (01.11am): to my house

Actually An Idiot (01.11am): now preferably like soon maybe

Actually An Idiot (01.12am): oh shit i’m sry ikno this is just rlly weird i’m being th ecreep now but I just got a werid as fuck message

Actually An Idiot (01.12am): kinda freaking out im not rlly

Actually An Idiot (01.12am): im not in the state to deal w this rn

Keefer (01.13am): its ok i can come over

Keefer (01.14am): im getting some pants on and ill be over

Actually An Idiot (01.14am): oh my fuckthankyou

Keefer (01.14am): what happened?

 

Keith had to put down the phone to get dressed, scrambling to get his pants on while it buzzed every several seconds, screen flashing in the darkness. He pulled a random hoodie out of his closet to throw on over the t-shirt he had on and rushed over to pick the phone back again. Swiping it on as he headed out of his room, he read the texts Lance had sent as he got his keys and put on his shoes.

 

Actually An Idiot (01.15am): zarkon

Actually An Idiot (01.15ma): u know zarkon

Actually An Idiot (01.15am): fucking zarkon sent me a fucking pm

Actually An Idiot (01.15am): about how he cant wait to se me??

Actually An Idiot (01.15am): i dindt respond bc its fucking zarkon

Actually An Idiot (01.16am): i thot he was just saying shit

Actually An Idiot (01.16am): and i was busy i was trying to clean up

Actually An Idiot (01.16am): i men i didnt think about it bc

Actually An Idiot (01.16am): i always thot hw was prbly in some abandoned gulag in siberia or something

Actually An Idiot (01.16am): but he keeps pm me

Actually An Idiot (01.16am): its just rly freaky

Actually An Idiot (01.17am): imsorry i shouldnt be bother ing u i just can’t handle it right now

Actually An Idiot (01.17am): im sorry

 

Fucking Zarkon. Keith knew exactly who that fucker was. Every week was the same, every week he’d fill the chat with disgustingly vile requests - disembowelment, cutting fingers off. “I want to see u spill ur guts for me” was forever burned into his brain, and he'd often wondered just how the hell Lance could deal with that sort of talk. There were plenty of sick people on the chat but Zarkon was the absolute worst.

 

Keefer (01.18am): it's fine don't worry

Keefer (01.18am): I'm in my car I'll be there soon

Actually An Idiot (01.18am): thank u thank u thank u

 

Keith got in his car, pulled the door shut and put the keys in the ignition. It was only when he paused to take a breath that he _actually_ realized what he was doing - following his impulsivity again, driving in the middle of the night out to the house of a man he barely knew. Lance had to have other people, friends, someone else. He had to. Why would he reach out to Keith instead? It shouldn't make sense, but one in the morning wasn't a time for rational thoughts.

Lance should be able to handle himself, Keith thought as he pulled out of the parking spot and sped down the street. Lance held a gun like he was born with one in his hands, comfortable and sure. It had only been a few moments but Keith was certain about it, about the way that despite his anxious state Lance was all calm posture and steady hands, he was _certain_ the man had some sort of training. He could take care of himself.

Except that he'd admitted he wasn't able to. Keith wrestled with the conflict - that Lance was obviously capable at odds with the fact that he'd admitted to being in no state to handle the situation. If there even was a situation - Keith couldn't get a hold of his whirling thoughts, couldn't tamp them down into some semblance of sense. Zarkon was probably talking out of his ass, Lance was probably overreacting…

But still, Keith drove, making record time on the empty streets. Fifteen minutes later he was pulling up in front of Lance’s house. There were no parking spaces left so he pulled as close to the righthand side as possible without scratching the parked cars. The blinds were drawn on the first floor windows, but he could see dim light peeking from between the slats.

 

Keefer (01.34am): I'm out front I'll be at the door in a sec

 

Tucking his phone into his pants pocket, he got out of the car and hurried to the house, taking the front steps two at a time. The door opened just as he a reached it, Lance standing back to let him in before shutting it behind him.

“Hey, sorry about this.” Lance said, motioning for Keith to follow him further inside. “I just, I dunno, today was sort of intense and I'm kind of still out of it?”

He _looked_ out of it, twitchy and wide eyed as he led Keith down the short hallway and into his apartment. He only had a very loose gray tank on, taped gauze visible at the neckline, and Keith could see his shoulders were shaking slightly. His lips were ashen when he turned to face Keith, the hand he ran through his hair trembling, and any doubts Keith had about going there that night vanished immediately.

“You wanna sit down?” Keith asked, concerned. Lance glanced around fleetingly, as if he'd forgotten what room he was in and wasn't even sure if sitting down was an option.

“You know it's probably not even something to be worried about?” He said suddenly, turning back to Keith. He tried to grin but it came out sloppy, fading from his face almost as soon as it appeared and leaving him looking forlorn and helpless again. “I'm just not always in the, in the best state of mind after a show. I mean I'm fine, okay, I'm totally fine just a little shaky, I just need some time to come back down you know but… this week, man, and the way this fucker is talking just kind of.. I'm really not usually like this after a show…”

It was a bit of a shock seeing him like this. Keith realized he'd been thinking of how Lance was on Monday, frazzled but in control, maybe quick on the draw but cognizant, steady. He hadn't even been considering the show and the effect it could have on him - how the fuck had he thought that Lance could be completely fine after cutting himself up multiple times?

“Sit down, okay,” Keith said, tone harsher than it should have been but Lance’s uneasy energy was setting him on edge. He glanced around the room they were in, noted the table at the center with a laptop sitting atop it, and herded Lance towards it. “You look like you're about to fall over.”

“I'm fine.” Lance snapped as Keith touched a hand to his elbow, though he allowed himself to be maneuvered towards a chair, and Keith gritted his teeth and reminded himself that the guy was in some sort of crisis mode and it was normal for him to be snappy. Lance sat down heavily, winced and reached behind him

“Shit.” He breathed, and pulled his gun out from under his shirt. He placed it on the table, carefully pointed away from either one of them, and leaned forward to ready his face in his hands, elbows on the table. His tank top shifted, and Keith caught a glance of gauze and tape on his chest under it.

“I'm really sorry, did I say that already?” Lance said, voice muffled by his hands.

“About a dozen times.” Keith replied evenly, leaning back against the table. The apartment was hot, almost stifling, and he unzipped his hoodie, already feeling the sweat on his skin.

“I would've called my friend but, he doesn't really know about _this_ ,” Lance said hollowly, “And he's not in the country right now…”

“I told you, it's fine. And stop apologizing.” Keith said, unable to keep the edge out of his voice. He felt somehow guilty, like he was violating some weird personal boundary by being there. He had been watching Lance carve himself up on his laptop screen only an hour earlier, and now he was in his apartment, standing guard while he trembled at his dining room table. It felt surreal.

“Do you want something to drink?” Keith asked. Lance snorted, unmoving.

“Shouldn't I be asking you that?”

“Maybe you should, you look shakey.” Keith said, ignoring Lance's words, “They always make you drink juice or something after you donate blood, right?”

“I didn't bleed that much.” Lance answered with a chuckle. Keith was worried he _had_.

“It can't hurt,” He muttered with a sigh, glancing around the rest of the apartment. The dining room connected with the small living room, a door led off from the living room to what he assumed was a bedroom. Behind him was a an open doorway, and he could see cabinets and a fridge beyond it. Maybe the bathroom was down that way as well. “Look, I'll go grab you something and you just...sit here and-”

A notification sounded from the laptop. Lance stiffened, and lifted his head to stare at it wide eyed. Neither one of them was in a position to see the screen, and Keith moved before Lance could, placing a hand in the other man's shoulder and holding him in place.

“You sit there,” He said firmly, meeting Lance’s eyes when he glanced back in surprise. Keith could understand that panicked look, hell he wanted to spin that laptop around and see what had been sent over too, but he was forcing himself to think _rationally,_ and rationally Lance looked like he needed to drink something or eat something before he passed out, from nerves or blood loss or both.“Sit. I'll get you something to drink, and when I get back we'll both take a look at what that was.”

Lance’s eyes narrowed, Keith could see him grow guarded all of a sudden - like the sharp tone before, it showed up out of nowhere. Did the guy have something against people helping him? But then that look, that tension, broke all of a sudden, and he nodded wordlessly, gaze dropping.

Keith headed back into the kitchen, feeling nervous energy in his joints. He still had no idea what the situation was but Lance’s nervousness was catching, and he felt wired, he needed to move. The kitchen was small, only enough room for a stove and a fridge and cabinets over a sink. He found a cup in one cabinet, and opened the fridge next. There was a half gallon of milk on the door, several containers of take out and leftovers, and tucked against the left hand wall two bottles: apple juice and some sort of tropical medley.

He decided on the tropical medley, and poured a decent cupful of that before heading back to the other room. Lance had his head bowed and was running his fingers through his hair slowly, back and forth. Keith set the cup on the table next to him and Lance sighed, glancing at it. He looked up at Keith, eyes still somewhat distant but much more focused than before.

“Thanks,” he said, and this time when he grinned it stuck. Keith gave him a reassuring grin back, and pulled over another chair to sit next to him. He was glad to see that Lance seemed to have settled down a bit.

“I swear I'm not like this usually after a show.” Lance said, taking several sips of the juice. “It’s just…”

His eyes flitted to the laptop.

“You've had a rough week.” Keith said, and Lance grinned, shook his head.

“I've had rougher weeks, you know,” He said, and set the cup down. Taking a deep breath, he reached for the laptop. “All right, let's see what this fucker had to say now.”

The familiar sight of the _DarkSinCams_ dashboard filled the screen, and a chat box was opened at dead center. There were… way too many lines of text. Way too many. Keith could only see the most recent ones, he barely glanced at them but what he saw was enough to get his pulse rising.

“Is he fucking serious.” He growled, only _just_ remembering that this was Lance’s laptop, not his own, and that he shouldn't in fact be shoving Lance aside so he could see more.

“I'm gonna be dead honest right now,” Lance said in a choked voice, “It was never this bad before.”

“Does he PM you a lot?” Keith asked, trying to control the anger in his voice.

“Not really, he usually keeps his disgusting psycho self in the chat…” Lance said, frowning. “There's no new messages, that's weird.”

“What's that?” Keith asked, pointing to a flashing yellow flag in the top right of the screen.

“Paid tokens,” Lance said with a sigh. “It usually keeps going off through the night after a show, people can replay it so it shows up on the recently recorded list for a few hours.”

Lance closed the chat window and navigated to the pay screen.

“See, they list out the paid tokens so you can see when they came over, who sent them, if it was like a tip or for a service or whatever...” Lance’s voice trailed off, and when he spoke after a moment it was in a horrified whisper. “What the fuck is that…”

Keith had only glanced over the list as Lance spoke, not paying too much attention to it, but at Lance's words he looked again.

“What the fuck is that!” Lance repeated, slightly louder, his voice going shakingly high pitched at the end.

 _That_ was a 2500 token payment, sitting at the top of the list.

“Is that twenty five hundred do-” Keith began, his own voice shaking.

“That is twenty five fucking hundred dollars!” Lance cut in, “From fucking _Zarkon_.”

Keith winced, leaning away from the screen as if it would attack him.

“What the fuck is he doing what the fuck is this!” Lance shot Keith a wide eyed look, waving a hand at the screen. “What the _fuck_ is this?”

Keith didn’t have a chance to respond, because the chat screen popped back up on the screen with ping.

 

 **Z4rk0n:** Image Attachment - Click to Download Image

 

Lance made a strangled sound, and pulled his hands away from the laptop as if burned.

“Why what why - I don’t want to see that. What is that? Why is he sending a picture? Is it his picture?” Lance was breathing hard, one hand reaching up to clutch at his hair.

“I don’t know!” Keith exclaimed, the panic reaching him. His heart was pounding and his hands were shaking almost as badly as Lance’s.

“I don’t want to see it!” Lance shoved the laptop over in front of Keith, wide eyed and frantic.

“Okay then don’t look at it!” Keith said, but then Lance slapped his shoulder and -

“Open it!” He said, sounding half-hysterical

“But you just said-”

“Open it open it-” Lance slapped his shoulder again.

“Stop hitting me-” Keith growled through gritted teeth, putting up an arm to block any further slaps. “And make up your mind!”

“Open it.” Lance said, his second hand joining his first in clutching at his hair.

“You sure?” Keith asked, watching him warily, just in case.

“Yes.” Lance said, taking a shuddering breath.

“Okay.” Keith reached a hand towards the laptop, but just before he could touch it Lance was shoving his hand away and grabbing it again.

“No, no, I’ll do it.” He said breathlessly, sliding the laptop back in front of him again.

There was a long, tense moment as they both stared at the screen. Keith fought the urge to wrestle the laptop back, his fingers twitching as time went on. Lance’s finger hovered over the touchpad, and Keith was tempted to just _yell_ at him to get him to move, to open the damn image and get it over with - but Lance was trembling again, his bare shoulders visibly shaking, eyes wide and breath coming fast. Keith bit his lip, he wanted to help but he couldn’t figure out how. Desperately he thought of comforting gestures, something that was appropriate given the situation - god he was bad at this, _what do people do?_ Slowly, he reached out a hand and in what he hoped was a suitably _gentle_ gesture, placed it on Lance’s shoulder.

Lance started at the touch - shit, did he fuck this up? - but he didn’t move away, and after a second he seemed to steady himself against Keith’s palm, sitting up a little straighter. Taking a last deep breath, Lance finally moved the cursor to the download link and clicked. The image opened in another window, loading within seconds, and for a moment they stared at the screen in dumbfounded silence.

“Is that....” Keith started.

“Plane ticket.” Lance said, his voice shuddering horribly. “Plane ticket. That’s a plane ticket.”

He stood up sharply, so harshly the chair he sat on tumbled back onto the floor with a loud crash. Keith started at the sound, heart pounding, and half-stood in reaction to Lance standing, seeing the look of utter horror blossoming on the other man’s face.

“Fuck fuck fuck…” Lance was struggling to control his breathing, but he couldn’t seem to look away from the screen, anxiety rolling off of him in waves thick enough that Keith could taste it on his tongue. Keith’s own blood was rushing already, but now it was starting to pound in his temples, he was starting to get a horribly strong urge to - to punch something, to break something - no, but he couldn’t do that, not here. So he breathed, unclenched his fists and stood up fully.

“You can’t stay here.” He said, in a voice far calmer than he felt. Lance tore his eyes from the screen to look at him, and Keith continued, “Do you have somewhere else to go? For a couple of days at least?”

“I… maybe, maybe I can…” Lance lowered his arms, hands clutching at the opposite forearms as he thought, his eyes traveling around the room. “Hunk’s in the Philippines but… but Shay, that’s his girlfriend, m-maybe she would let me…”

There was something in his voice, a catch, that made Keith think that option was off the table. He couldn’t leave Lance to deal with this alone, however, his conscience would never allow it, and he spoke before really thinking,

“You can stay at my place.”

“What?” Lance turned to him in surprise, and Keith found himself backpedalling.

“Or, you know, a hotel?” He amended, thinking that maybe his offer was too forward, but Lance was grinning suddenly, relief coloring his face.

“Are you serious? You’d let me...” Lance took a half step towards him, “I mean, it’s… this is already too much…”

“No, it’s fine.” Keith said, glancing at the plane ticket again. The flight date was for tomorrow; he swallowed thickly, and looked at Lance again. “Get some stuff and we can head over.”

“Okay, shit, okay,” Lance sounded overwhelmed, voice strained as he glanced around the apartment.

“And if you need bandages or something you should take some with you, I don't think we really have anything like that,” Keith supplied.

“All right,” Lance said, “I'll be right back, I'll just grab some shit from my room.”

He headed for the bedroom door, and Keith found himself following behind him. The only other option was to stand there staring at the laptop screen, and his heart was racing enough as it was.

“Do you need any help?” Keith asked, unable to just stand there and wait. He needed to keep moving, needed to think about something other that Zarkon and the plane tickets and… “I can help.”

“Okay,” Lance answered distractedly, then stopped in the doorway and spun around, a worried look on his face, “Wait! No!”

“What-”

“I didn't get a chance to finish cleaning up! So!” Lance he led up his hands as if he was going to try to hold Keith back. “Just wait here, I'll just grab a few things and-”

Keith did not want to wait. Jaw set, he bodily turned Lance around and shoved him through the doorway, following close behind.

“Dude! You don't just-”

“Shut up all right, I'm not going to freak out or whatever,” Keith grumbled, letting go of Lance once they were inside the room. It was dimly lit by a single lamp sitting on the dresser, but even in the half light Keith could make out the tangled sheets on the bed, half-pulled off and splotched with dark stains. Lance reached for the sheets first, yanking them fully off the bed and tossing them down in a corner, out of Keith’s line of sight. Then he hurried over to the closet door, pulling it open to peer inside, and while he pulled out some things Keith took a chance to look around.

This was the room - Keith felt a stirring of excitement inside of him that was wholly inappropriate given the situation, a giddy rush like a kid meeting their idol. This was it - the walls and the bed looking so strangely familiar. The room was as hot as the rest of the apartment, and the barest sweetly-metallic tang hung in the air. Fuck, Keith fidgeted, feeling out of place and guilty. Maybe he shouldn't have come inside, it felt like a total invasion of privacy.

“Hey, there's a kit over there by the wall, can you grab it?” Lance called, shoving some things into a duffel bag. Keith glanced behind him and found it, a black and blue case the size of a large tackle box. The clasps were open, so he closed them and picked it up, turning back to Lance. He had pulled on a navy blue hoodie in the meantime, and was zipping the duffel bag closed. He pulled the strap over his head, wincing as he did, and gave a shaky breath.

“All right, let me grab my laptop and we can get out of here.” He said, walking over to turn the lamp on the dresser off, plunging the room into darkness.

“Okay,” Keith answered, but something caught his eye, and he stood there as Lance passed him, eyes drawn to the ceiling.

There were stars on the ceiling. They glowed the soft green of glow-in-the-dark stickers, from pinpoint dots to inch wide circles and star shapes. Keith had spent enough nights in his life staring up at the night sky to recognize instantly that they weren't just thrown up there haphazardly - he found Polaris almost at once, traced the lines of Cassiopeia next, then Perseus, found Orion and Auriga. The axis, the positioning, was different from what he was used to but the arrangements were clear enough that he could recognize them anyways.

“What?” Lance spoke hesitantly. Keith dragged his eyes from the ceiling to find him standing uncertainly in the doorway and for a moment their eyes met. Keith shrugged, uncertain of what to say - _nice constellation map?_ \- and after another second of silence they left the room.

Lance went for the laptop, shutting it without looking at the screen, and dragged the charger from under the table to wrap the cord round itself with shaking hands. He looked wrung out, worn, and the color still hadn't returned to his lips. Keith could see he was moving carefully, biting his lip when he leaned over for the cord, wincing when the duffel bag hit his side. He could have tried to laugh it off before, but he had cut a lot that night - maybe not excessively, but still. It was obvious he was in pain, and not a _good_ kind.

“Give me the bag,” Keith said finally, unable to watch him wrestle with it any longer. Lance turned watery eyes to him, frowning.

“I got it.” He said stubbornly, gripping the strap tightly and turning so the bag was out of Keith’s reach.

“Don't make me take it from you,” Keith gave him a hard look, but Lance still looked unconvinced.

“I said I got it-”

“Lance, I swear to fucking-”

“Ugh, okay, fine,” Lance huffed, pulling the strap over his head and handing it over finally. Keith rolled his eyes, pulling the strap over his shoulder and hefting the case again.

“You good to go?” Keith asked, and Lance glanced back at the table. Keith followed his gaze and saw that the gun was still sitting there, glinting darkly in the light.

“Let me just put that away…” Lance said, stepping closer to the table.

“You can take it you know,” Keith said, speaking before he’d fully thought of the words _again_. Lance paused and looked at him in surprise, a questioning look in his eyes.

“If it'll make you feel safer…” Keith added quietly, shifting the strap on his shoulder. Lance looked relieved.

“I'll keep the safety on. I swear.” Lance didn't need to be told twice; he grabbed the gun and tucked it into his waistband under his hoodie and shirt.

Keith waited for him to make sure he had his keys and phone, laptop tucked under his arm, and then they headed out, Lance careful to lock all the doors behind him. The sky had grown cloudy while they were inside, and a light rain was falling. They headed to the car quickly, and Keith tossed the duffel bag and case on the backseat before getting in.

They drove in silence for the most part, the windshield wipers squeaking across glass, until Lance began laughing suddenly, a quiet breathless laugh.

“What?” Keith asked, glancing at him. He’d slouched down in the seat, arms wrapped around himself, and the passing glare of the streetlights made his face look washed out and ghostly.

“I was just thinking, I mean,” Lance said with a chuckle. “For all I know you could be some psycho serial killer and here I am going somewhere with you, willingly…”

“I could be,” Keith admitted with a shrug, and Lance made a distressed noise.

“No, man, look,” He shifted uneasily, his voice quiet. “This is the part where you reassure me that you _aren't_.”

“Oh,” Keith said evenly, “In that case, I'm not a serial killer.

“And the psycho part?” Lance asked. Keith could see him cocking an eyebrow as he looked over.

“Jury's still out on that,” Keith answered, grinning slightly. Lance laughed at that, a real laugh even if it was somewhat strained, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence for the rest of the ride back.

The lights were on in the living room window, Keith noticed. He could see them from where they were parking. Pidge must’ve gotten back, but why she was hanging around the living room and instead of her own room he couldn’t understand.

Lance got out nearly as soon as they’d stopped, and opened the back door - but the things in back were closer to the right side, and Keith was able to grab the duffel bag and case before Lance could reach over. Ignoring the disgruntled look Lance shot him he led the way inside. The building was far larger than Lance’s, five stories tall with two stairwells, and it took up half the block it stood on. The apartment was on the third floor on the east side, but there were no elevators, unfortunately, and they had to walk all the way up. If Lance noticed that Keith was slowing his pace for him, he didn’t mention it.

“I thought your car would be red,” Lance said as they climbed the stairs.

“What?” Keith was taken aback by the question, coming out of nowhere after such a long period of silence. Lance must speak like he texted, train of thought, and idly Keith thought he should be used to this by now.

“It’s your favorite color, right?”

That shouldn’t have been enough to make the warmth shudder in Keith’s breast, but it did. Lance remembered, but how could he not? He’d thought it hilarious enough at the time.

“My motorcycle’s red.” Keith said replied, leading the way onto the third floor landing and down the hall to the apartment.

“What?” Lance gasped, hurrying to walk alongside him. “You have a motorcycle?”

“Yeah, but the engine’s shot so…” Keith answered with a sigh. He hadn’t yet put aside enough money to even think about getting it fixed, and the mere thought of it being out of commission grated on him. Stopping at the door, he pulled his keys out. “Listen, Pidge sort of knows about… well, about you and something about the situation, so don’t be surprised if she makes some sort of references to it.”  
“All right,” Lance said, expression falling into an uncertain frown. He waited quietly as Keith opened the door, and followed him inside, laptop clutched tight against his side.

“Keith! Where the hell have you been?” Pidge’s voice greeted them, loud in the silence of the night. Keith grimaced, hoping the neighbors weren’t awake to hear. “I know we’re out of guac but I’m pretty sure that doesn’t constitute an emergency store run at two in the morning.”

Pidge appeared in their view, and she pulled up short when she saw Lance, brows furrowing in puzzlement and eyes narrowing behind her glasses. Quirking her mouth and setting her hands on her hips, she fixed Keith with an uncompromising stare.

“Who’s this?”

She could have afforded to sound a little more like she was talking about a person and a little less like she might have been talking about a pile of garbage. Keith sighed and motioned to Lance in introduction,

“This is Lance.”

“Ah.” Pidge said. A half second later her eyes widened a bit and her stance stiffened. “Oh. This is _Lance_.”

“Uh… Hi, and yes, I’m Lance.” Lance said, stepping forward and grinning brightly. The bemused look on Pidge’s face had become amused, and she grinned back and stuck her hand out enthusiastically.

“I’m Pidge, nice to meet you,” She said, shaking Lance’s hand energetically when he took hers. “So, what brings you here at this odd hour?”

“Lance is going to stay with us a day or two.” Keith said, itching to move further into the apartment but half-trapped by Pidge blocking the hallway in front of them.

“Is he?” Pidge asked shrewdly, narrowed eyes back on Keith.

“If it’s okay?” Lance said uncertainly, eyes darting to Keith. “Keith said it was okay, but…”  
“Oh, well, if _Keith_ said it was okay.” A wry grin spread across Pidge’s face.

“Pidge, don’t be difficult.” Keith groaned. The adrenaline of the night was beginning to wear off, and he was starting to feel that bone deep weariness that came in the aftermath.

“Who’s being difficult?” Pidge asked, throwing her hands up in surrender. She began to back out of the entry way, but her eyes fixed on Lance. “You didn’t say, what brings you here? Oh! Wait, I know! Psycho stalker!”

Lance looked shocked, and Pidge barked in laughter.

“I knew it!” She said, “Is this psycho stalker going to find their way here though?”

“I hope not,” Keith muttered, pushing past her finally and into the living room. He set the duffel bag and the case down by the couch and turned around.

“Well, I can hack into the security cameras, just in case,” Pidge said, tapping a finger on her chin, eyes getting a far away look in them. Lance was watching her with a puzzled grin, as if he was trying to understand her and her odd behavior. Good luck with that, Keith thought with a grin.

“Do you know what they look like?” Pidge asked, hopping up onto the back of the couch. Lance considered a moment, setting the laptop down on the coffee table and sitting on the couch.

“Uh, pure evil?” He offered. Pidge nodded her head, expression serious.

“Ah, yes.” She hopped back off the couch again, “Too bad we don’t have sensors that can read people’s auras, but perhaps if I recalibrated one of my infrared cameras…”

“While you’re trying to figure that out, I’m gonna get Lance set up here on the couch,” Keith interrupted, heading her off before she fell into a full blown technical brainstorm.

“The extra pillows are in the closet, I’ll grab those, but you’re gonna have to share your blankets with him,” Pidge said distractedly, heading for the small closet by the bathroom. “I’m not sharing mine.”

Keith went to grab some of his clean blankets from his own closet, and by the time he got back Pidge had the pillows on the couch and was sitting on the couch armrest, talking to Lance.

“ -and if the hell dogs on the first floor don’t stop them, our neighbor Georgina will,” Pidge was saying, and she looked to Keith for support. He didn’t know exactly what had been said, but he assumed Pidge was trying to be reassuring, in her own odd way.

“Georgina was a UFC fighter,” Keith clarified, and Lance’s eyes went wide.

“A real UFC fighter?” Lance asked, picking his hands up into a fighting stance. “Like, for real?”

“She was number two on the rankings for a while.” Pidge nodded proudly, “I mean, it’s been a few years, but I’m pretty sure she can still bench press any of us, and punch a hole in a wall. Maybe even do both of those things at the same time.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Keith said honestly. Georgina was ripped in all the ways a well-muscled and trained athlete should be.

“Wow.” Lance looked a bit shellshocked. Keith eyed him in concern, hoping that he wasn’t too overwhelmed by all the fuss of the night.

“Here, you go ahead and get settled in, you need some rest,” Keith pushed the blankets into Lance’s lap, and turned to Pidge. “You need to get to sleep too.”

“And you need to get to sleep too!” Pidge mimicked, poking a finger in his chest. “No, but seriously that’s a good idea. It’s like three in the morning, maybe four. I can’t tell time, but whatever time it is, it is time to sleep.”

She hopped off the couch and gave them a wave, heading off to her room with a cheery “Night Boys!”

“I know I said this before, but I really appreciate this.” Lance said, looking up at Keith with a grin. He looked so much better than before, the panic having faded away, no longer darkening his eyes or weighing his shoulders down.

“Yeah, and like I said before, it’s fine. Now get some sleep.” Keith grinned back at him, and headed to his room.

 

-

The weekend passed uneventfully - well, other than the moment where Keith returned home from work on Sunday afternoon to a full blown shouting match. He’d been convinced Pidge and Lance were trying to kill each other, until he rushed into the living room to find them playing Mario Kart. Despite doing his best to stealthily sneak out, he’d been dragged into the game as well and spent the next few hours being forced into rematch after rematch.

“How the hell are you so good at this?” Lance practically screeched after Keith had won his tenth race in a row.

“Keith wins anything involving driving or piloting,” Pidge groaned, flopping over the couch armrest. “He’s the worst.”

“Sorry.” Keith said tonelessly; he wasn’t the one who’d wanted to play Mario Kart.

“Oh you _will be_ when I kick your ass!” Lance shot back, glaring daggers.

Lance did not, in fact, kick his ass, on that round or the next, or the next, and Keith finally managed to back out of the game with the excuse that dinner needed to be made. Still, it was _nice_. Pidge and Lance’s banter and bickering and friendly insults filled the apartment with a pleasant noise, so wholly different from what Sunday’s usually were and somehow comfortable and right all the same. Keith found himself smiling as he got dinner together, a simple casserole that was one of the five things he could make. He could get used to this.

 

.

He wouldn’t have the chance to, however, he reminded himself as he got ready that Monday to head to work. Lance was curled up asleep on the couch, and Keith resisted the urge to go over and wake him up, just to tell him… what, have a good day? Hope that psycho Zarkon doesn’t show up? Zarkon hadn’t sent any messages since that night, and Keith was silently hoping that the whole thing was just a huge big mess that nothing would come out of. Still, he’d had Lance promise to text him later - as if he needed to, Lance had texted him the whole week before without needing to be reminded - and that would have to be enough.

Work passed quickly and as uneventfully as it could - rogue trucks notwithstanding - and Keith headed home as usual. The weekend may have been an interesting ride, but things had gone back to normal almost disappointingly quick. The same faces at the office, the same faces at the coffee shop, same traffic on the roads. Pidge was out when he’d come home, also as usual, and after a few minutes wandering around the the too-quiet apartment, he went to bed and fell into a fitful sleep.

The doorbell woke him up, and he groped his way out of bed, shocked and disoriented by the darkness that greeted him. How long had he slept? Making it out of his room, he stumbled into the living room to hear familiar voices at the door, and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes he went to meet them.

“Hey Keith,” Lance said, grinning sheepishly, hands in the pockets of his hoodie - a black zip up with navy blue sleeves, different from the day before.

“Hey,” Keith eyed him curiously, then looked at Pidge. Pidge shrugged, and Lance cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable.

“So.” He said, bit his lip and looked towards the living room. Or rather, away from _their eyes_ , Keith thought.

“Come on, sit down,” Keith said, leading the way back to the living room, and Pidge and Lance followed. “You look like you want to talk about something?”

“Yeah…” Lance replied in a drawn out sigh, falling heavily onto the left side of the couch that he’d quietly claimed for his own over the weekend. Pidge perched on the coffee table facing him, and Keith settled into the other corner of the couch. Lance ruffled his hair, pursed his lips as he apparently tried to formulate his thoughts, and finally turned to them with a troubled expression on his face.

“So, Zarkon actually showed up.” He said slowly.

“What?” Keith sat up at that, and even Pidge stiffened visibly.

“No way,” She breathed, shooting Keith a wide-eyed look. She’d forced him to fill her in on some of the things Zarkon had said over the months over the past few days, and had been absolutely shocked and disgusted by what he’d told her. “What happened?”

“Well, he showed up on Saturday, when I wasn’t there.” Lance explained. “Nyma was though, and apparently he was being such a disgustingly creepy fucker she ended up calling the police on him. Turns out - get this -” Lance gave a wry laugh, grinning “this fucker was wanted in like, five states for stalking charges. He’s been in the fucking system for three years.”

“Holy shit!” Pidge laughed, that reactive laugh of hers she had in uneasy situations. Keith could feel his blood run cold and that shudder in his joints again.

“And?” Keith asked, “What happened?”

“They took him in for trespassing, because that’s what Nyma told the police - apparently he like forced his way into the house when she answered the door and wouldn’t leave?” Lance fiddled with his hoodie sleeve. “They started running his background and shit while he was there, I guess, and found all the outstanding warrants. And I was right you know! Well, I mean, he wasn’t in some Gulag but he _was_ outside the country, trying to keep from getting caught.”

“When I went back today, Nyma got on my case about it, said the police wanted to talk to me about what the hell was going on. She was, uh, pretty pissed I’d say.” Lance laughed, but when he continued his tone was uneasy, laced with tension. “She wouldn’t take no for an answer, and she had me go down to the station with her. The fucking _FBI_ was there - actual fucking FBI like fucking Criminal Minds or something - and they wanted to talk to me. It was a… a trip.”

“Ugh, did they ask about…” Pidge waved her hand vaguely, and Keith clenched his teeth, sympathy pains daggering his chest.

“Oh, yeah,” Lance’s tone was light, but horribly tense. “They wanted to talk about… about everything. But, you know, it wasn’t… wasn’t that bad. And they said they could use it to lock the fucker up so…”

Lance shrugged, grinned at them brightly. Keith wasn’t buying it, he could see how his eyes were, red rimmed and dark, could see the tension in his shoulders.

“Are they going to ask you to like, testify, if there’s a trial or whatever?” Keith asked carefully, shifting on the couch to face Lance.

“They said,” Lance spoke slowly, “That I was probably not the first on the list of witnesses they’d call on. Which probably is legal speak for “you’re too fucking weird and disgusting and we need the jury on our side so we’re going to pretend you don’t exist beyond your written statement”.”

“Probably for the best, man,” Pidge said sympathetically, “Your statement might be included but, if you actually went on the stand? That’d like, blow the fuck up. Ruin your anonymity and all that crap.”

“Ugh, god,” Lance groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I know, just the thought of that happening makes me want to puke.”

“This is good news though,” Keith said, and the others turned to look at him. “If he’s been crossing state lines, doing creepy ass stalker shit, trespassing and all that, they can lock him up for a while, can’t they?”

“Yep,” Pidge nodded, and shot Lance a grin. “And I know today was probably a horrible, horrible piece of shit day, but your statement could probably be the last nail in his coffin of prison time.”

“Yay,” Lance said unenthusiastically. “Let’s hope I never have to do this again. It was so fucking degrading… They kept giving me these looks like, _are we sure this guy isn’t a psycho too_ ? I swear - I _fucking swear_ \- I heard someone in the station whisper ‘he was asking for it, with what he does’ and I was about ten seconds from slapping a bitch.”

Keith felt his hackles rise at the mere thought of it, and thought it was probably a good thing that it was Lance at the station, and not him.

“You should have.” He said anyway, sounding fierce even to himself. Lance shot him a good natured grin and Pidge laughed, slapping his knee.

“Yeah, next time take Keith with you. He’ll slap anyone you want.” Pidge said between chuckles, and Keith nodded his assent. No one fucking disrespected _his_ friends.

“You guys are awesome,” Lance laughed quietly, running his fingers through his hair, but his grin faltered and his expression turned uneasy again. He breathed a deep sigh, and when he looked back at them his eyes were darkened and cloudy. Stormy, Keith thought. Stormy ocean.

“Look, I sort of already imposed like, a whole ton,” Lance said, “And - and I’m really not trying to take advantage of the generosity you, for some odd reason, have given me, but… I sorta got kicked out of my place today…”

“Are you serious?” Pidge exclaimed.

“What? Why?” Keith started, shocked.

“Yeah, Nyma apparently thinks more pyschos are going to start showing up and we haven’t always been on good terms anyways, so…” Lance look at them pleadingly, managing a surprisingly good kicked-puppy look that tugged at Keith’s heartstrings something horrible. “Is there any way I can stay with you guys a little longer? Week, or two? I just need to find a place I can afford, I’m kind of between regular jobs now but I got money set aside, and Nyma’s going to give me back my security deposit at the end of the week.”

Pidge and Keith shared a look, and even though the words where on the tip of his tongue Pidge _still_ managed to beat him to the punch.

“Uh, yeah you can stay?” She said, beaming. “I mean, as long as you’re okay on the couch. We don’t really have room for anything else.”

“Are you serious?” There was that relieved tone, the same one from Friday that had Keith’s heart beating faster, like Lance couldn’t ever have expected someone to be so generous and kind to him. He must’ve been the type of guy that didn’t just _feel_ emotions but _lived_ them - that explained the dramatics surprisingly well.

“Yeah,” Keith responded this time, smiling. He remembered the easy atmosphere of Sunday afternoon and he was looking forward to more days like that.

“You guys are seriously the best!” Lance exclaimed happily, laughter bubbling out of him. “You seriously are oh my god, I don’t know how to repay you!”

“You can cook for us,” Pidge said evenly. “You _have_ to be better at cooking than either one of us. There’s no way you can be worse.”

“Me? I can cook like a fucking madman!” Lance said haughtily, “I will cook you fucking feasts _daily_ , just watch me!”

“I like him,” Pidge said, looking at Keith. “He’s such a go-getter.”

Keith rolled his eyes, and turned back to Lance to ask, “Are you going to need help packing?”

“I don’t think so, really, but I’m going to need your car to get my stuff over here. If that’s all right.” Lance said.

“I can come over after work tomorrow?” Keith offered, and Lance nodded.

“Good, I’ll have most of my stuff packed up by then I think.” Lance said, and then seeing Pidge and Keith exchange a skeptical look added, “I’m not packing the furniture, right? Just, throwing all my shit into boxes and bags. It isn’t that hard.”

“Oh god you’re one of _those_ packers.” Pidge groaned, and Keith grimaced.

“You’re never going to find anything if you pack like that.” Keith said, shaking his head.

“Excuse you, and you too,” Lance pointed at each of them in turn. “I have a system and it is a good system, so if you’d kindly not criticize it that’d be great.”

They laughed at that, easy laughter that finally broke through the tension of the earlier conversation.

“Do you need a ride back to your place?” Keith asked.

“Sure, if you’re offering.” Lance grinned back.

“Nope!” Pidge hopped to her feet. “I’m offering.”

“It’s not your car,” Keith cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Yes, but I have the keys anyway,” Pidge said, pulling the keyfob out of her pocket. “Let’s go buddy boy.”

Lance laughed, getting to his feet, and Keith watched them leave. He couldn’t even be all that mad that Pidge had stolen the drive from under his nose. Lance was going to be living with them - the thought brought a smile to his face, and he set to work getting the blankets and pillows back on the couch for Lance.

 

-

 

Lance was practically done packing when Keith arrived after work, the dining room filled with several large boxes and garbage bags full of clothes. Lance was packing in the kitchen, carefully wrapping dishes and bowls in bubble wrap before layering them into a sturdy cardboard box.

“Hey, I think there’s still a box in the bedroom, can you grab that?” He asked when Keith peered inside the kitchen, shooting him a grin.

“Yeah,” Keith answered and, skirting the wall of boxes in the dining room, headed to the bedroom. The box was on the bed, and the room looked bare and empty. Except, Keith tilted his head back, except for the stars still stuck on the ceiling. He frowned, eyeing them closely. Some were the regular sticker kind, but there were plenty that were the sturdier plastic, stuck on with sticky tac. Lifting the box of things, he headed out of the room.

“You didn’t take the stars down.” He called out, setting the box down on the others in the dining room. There was quite a stack, but if they lined them up against the wall in the living room he thought they might not crowd the apartment too much. They might need to take two trips to get them all, though.

“Yeah, they can stay,” Lance called back, tone carefully uncaring. Keith thought he heard a further mutter, something like ‘kids stuff’, but… No one who went through the pains of reconstructing a full hemisphere of constellations would think that. Making up his mind, he grabbed a chair, carried it back into the bedroom and started the slow and somewhat precarious process of pulling off those stars that he could.

“What are you doing?” Lance’s voice reached him after a while, and he looked down at him from his perch on the chair. Lance was in the doorway, an annoyed expression on his face, brows furrowed and mouth quirked.

“Uh, helping. Isn’t it obvious?” Keith answered. There was a small pile of stars on the mattress, and he had several stuck to the front of his shirt so he didn’t lose them. Lance eyed the ceiling quietly a moment, his mouth relaxing into a wistful grin.

“Okay dude,” Lance shook his head, sighing, “I mean, there’s like a million boxes to carry out of here but you go ahead and do that instead. Why not.”  
Throwing his hands up in surrender, he turned and left the room. Keith didn’t miss the slight hitch in his voice, or the way his eyes lit up just the slightest when he’d realized what Keith was doing. Grinning to himself, he turned back to his work, peeling the stars off one by one.

 

-

 

“So, how did you two meet?” Lanced asked as they ate dinner on the couch one evening. The History channel was playing, a black and white documentary about some historical figure or the other that none of them really cared about.

“Galaxy Garrison Program,” Pidge said around the mouthful of bratwurst.

“What, seriously?” Lance asked, eyes lighting up in excitement. He turned a bit, jostling Pidge’s knee with his own, so he could face both Pidge and Keith. “You two were in the program?”

“Yeah,” Keith answered, and noting Lance’s excitement asked, “Were you?”

“Yes!” Lance pointed his fork at this chest to punctuate his words. “I was in the Florida Pre-Admission program.”

“We were in the Nevada one!” Pidge said, grinning widely. “How far did you make it?”

“Oh, well,” Lance’s face fell a bit. “Not that far…”

“Did you fail out?” Pidge teased, “It’s okay, you can admit it. We don’t judge.”

“F-fail out?” Lance sputtered indignantly. “I’ll have you know I worked my ass off maintaining a 4.0 GPA for those scholarships!”

“Woah,” Keith said, appropriately impressed, and even Pidge looked surprised. Each division only had several scholarships available yearly, and if Lance was maintaining a 4.0 he must’ve been getting the full ride.

“I wanted to be a pilot, though,” Lance sighed and shrugged. “But apparently I’m really, really horrible at that. Like, I crash everything I touch bad. It was just such a downer I decided I’d just cut my losses and bail before I started putting any actual money into it, you know? Scholarships only lasted so long, and I wasn’t going to be a half-assed engineer or something...”

“Makes sense,” Pidge said sympathetically. “We’re not all cut out for it.”

Keith made a noise of assent, too busy chewing to answer, and an amused glint came to Pidge’s eyes.

“Although, it seems you two have something in common,” Pidge said with a chuckle, and Keith groaned. Fuck. He shot Pidge a warning look, shaking his head, but she only grinned evilly in return.

“What?” Lance asked, pausing in lifting a forkful of sauerkraut to give them a questioning look.

“I, my friend, was in communications but Keith here was fighter pilot class.” She said, grin widening as Keith’s face fell. She was a horrible person, a horrible horrible person and he didn’t understand why he put up with her.

“Was? Then why are you out here, man?” Lance asked, and there might have been the slightest hopeful tone in his voice as he asked, “Did you not make the cut either?”

“Ah, no,” Keith muttered evasively, turning his gaze to the tv and wishing the sound was on louder.

“Oh no!” Pidge chortled, “No, our Keith was top of his class. Excellent pilot, in the simulators and in the actual planes…”

“Was he…” Lance’s grin was beginning to look forced, and Keith was very close to kicking Pidge in the leg.

“Oh he was, so no he didn’t flunk out-”

Here it comes, Keith thought, closing his eyes as if that would help him brace for the recollections of his sordid past.

“He was BOOTED!”

Pidge laughed uproariously, and Lance shot a confused look at each of them in turn. Keith refused to acknowledge it, force feeding himself the rest of the bratwurst so quickly he almost choked.

“Wait, what? For what?” Lance was laughing now too, unable to resist the draw of Pidge’s open amusement.

“For stealing government property!” Pidge wheezed between guffaws, and Keith shot her an indignant look.

“I didn’t steal _anything_!” He retorted, shaking his fork at her and flinging sauerkraut on her shirt.

“Just several thousands worth of government sensors and computers that’s all…” Pidge managed to keep her laughter in long enough to get the entire sentence out, but only barely.

“Oh my fucking god what the fuck did you do?” Lance looked like he was going to die of laughter.

“Listen, okay, I did not steal any of that,” Keith was trying to sound angry but by that point he was finding it difficult to keep the grin off of his face. “It was all going to be trashed-”

“It was being _repurposed_ Keith!” Pidge nearly _screamed_ and Keith responded with a furious,

“I REPURPOSED IT MYSELF!”

That made Pidge choke on whatever scraps of food were in her throat and sent Lance leaning over the couch’s armrest, muttering to himself weakly, “repurposed it himself…”

“That’s not the best part yet,” Pidge wheezed, slapping Keith’s arm. “He’s got the shit in the back of a pick up, right, and he’s driving pretty normally out of the base, he even got past the guard shack…”

“They didn’t even look in back.” Keith added.

“He’s on the road outside and the Garrison police pull out behind him and start following him,” Pidge wiped a hand across her eyes. “They flash their lights and this one, this one gets the bright idea _not to stop for the fucking GARRISON POLICE._ ”

“I saw the lights and I panicked, okay?” Keith growled, giving Pidge a shove to let her know he did not appreciate that little retelling, but he couldn’t hide the grin on his face. Pidge shoved him back good naturedly.

“Oh my god. That is the best story ever.” Lance was still laughing, little bubbly laughter that kept coming back each time it seemed to stop. It colored his face and brightened his eyes, and Keith decided he liked it. He liked seeing Lance laugh.

“Yeah, Keith got a little loopy after the mess with Kerberos,” Pidge said, still chuckling, but after a moment she seemed to realize what she had said. Keith’s grin faltered - _Kerberos_ \- and he avoided her eyes when she looked at him.

“I think a lot of people went a little loopy after that…” Lance said, his tone oddly distant yet wistful at the same time. Keith glanced over to find him poking at his plate, eyes oddly dark.

“Yeah, well,” PIdge cleared her throat and put on a cheery tone. “Shit happens, but we’re here! That’s something, right?”

“That’s something,” Keith agreed, and Lance laughed from the other end of the couch.

 

-

 

It was late. Infomercial late, but despite having gotten up for work at four in the morning Keith found himself on the couch, half-empty bottle of Becks in his hand and sleep nowhere to be found. Lance was next to him, slouched against the armrest, his legs bent and feet just barely touching Keith's thigh. Keith wanted to tell him it was okay, to stretch out, to actually _touch_ him, but he just drank his beer instead.

They'd been talking about something, about random things like the cats Lance missed and the new barista at the coffee shop down the street and the way the apartment always creaked at exactly one thirty in the morning. Keith couldn’t really remember how’d they gotten from one topic to the other, but each lapse into silence lasted only a short while before Lance filled the space with chatter again.

It was a Friday night, and Keith thought that might be the answer to why Lance was so on edge all day, so flighty and prone to distracted silences that ended in anxiously loud laughter. The previous days had been pleasant, if busier than Keith was used to, louder and more full than before. Lance had integrated into their odd little apartment life almost seamlessly, fitting into a space none of them had even realized existed. That day, however, he’d been _on_ since the moment Keith stepped in the door, babbling about nothing and keeping his hands busy with everything. He’d made dinner, he'd washed the dishes despite them having a dishwasher. He’d scrubbed the counters, took out the garbage, rearranged the sad plants on the windowsill - a veritable whirlwind of action that Keith could barely keep up with. Pidge had ducked back into her room after dinner, she had coding to finish she said, shooting a wary look Lance’s way before she left, and only to emerge around ten thirty to head out for her thing, and they’d been left on their own.

“Can I ask you something?” Keith said at some point, downing the last of the Beck’s and setting the bottle onto the coffee table next to the other two.

“Sure,” Lance replied distractedly, focusing awful hard on trying to peel the label off of his own bottle. His hair was mussed up again, he’d been running his hands through his hair almost obsessively all day and it was sticking up every which way.

“The show stuff…” Keith began, putting into words thoughts that would come to him sometimes, questions and wonderings, “What’s the payout like? Is it decent?”

“It’s decent enough,” Lance said musingly, grinning widely as he finally managed to pull the label off in one, clean, tug. “I mean, some of the popular models pull in like, 60k a year. Not bad, right? Like, actual career money, buy a house and live like a normal person money.”

Keith nodded, waited while Lance balled up the label and tossed it onto the coffee table.

“I’m on the really low end of the payouts, though.” Lance said with a smirk. “I can’t really put a show like that on every night, right?”

“That would probably ruin you,” Keith said, and Lance laughed.

“No shit.” He took a drink, tapped the bottom of the bottle on his knee and continued, and oddly bemused look on his face. “I started out like them, you know? Regular cam model shit, very vanilla. It was nice, I’ve never really been good at keeping down full time jobs so this was like, a godsend. I could work when I wanted and do shit that I wanted and people would pay me? It was fucking great. I could pick up part time jobs then, too, to even out my budget. It worked. I didn’t start out cutting, you know, but I… I cut.”

Lance paused, not to look at Keith but to frown down at the bottle in his hands.

“I cut and people noticed, they’d ask about it something but I’d just ignore them or talk about something else. But then someone asked if I’d cut for them live - and I was like, uh, no? - but they said they’d give me a hundred bucks for it and I was like, okay, why the fuck not?”

“I guess that’s how it started?” Lance was still frowning, and he took a breath and said carefully, “It’s not _bad_ what I do.”

“I don’t think that,” Keith offered, hoping that Lance knew that. He had to know that.

“No, no, I mean, I hurt myself, okay? I’ve always…” Lance’s eyes flickered a moment, then he raised his gaze and met Keith’s - and Keith would be able to plot it later, to trace the seconds and heartbeats of that very moment as whatever cork Lance had stopping up his words popped, filling his eyes first with emotion that left them wet and glistening in the half-light, pouring into his mouth and out past his lips in a rush of words that Keith didn’t think he deserved the honor of hearing.

“I used to do that thing kids do, where they’d like hit themselves when they’re frustrated and I guess I never grew out of it? I started cutting in middle school and it was just… it was just really good and it stayed with me, that feeling and that urge...” The words spill too easily, Lance couldn’t seem to stop them himself now that the first wave was cresting, “I thought I was over it at some point, thought I got it under control but then… I had to drop out of the Garrison program… I wanted to be an astronaut once but I couldn’t, ha, I could _never_ make it that far, but I thought if I aimed a little lower…”

Lance licked his lips, eyes meeting Keith’s again and they looked far too open and far too deep. Keith wanted to reach out and touch him, to reassure him that he wasn’t getting lost, but he was glued to his seat, he couldn’t move.

“That didn’t work. It didn’t work out and I got really, really bad - every time I cut it was like I was on a high, and as long as I cut again in time I could keep on it, on that weird sort of shuddery dissociation high. It felt good, it felt good because I wasn’t focusing on anything else but the cutting and the pain and god it felt fucking good you know. And yeah it was like, I could get off on it, but I didn’t have to, the good was inside you know, in my head. And it helped, when I didn’t want to think about how bad I was fucking up… It was… that wasn’t a good time, but I thought I could get through it, I got this idea in my head that I could keep from cutting so bad if I had something else to focus on so I.. I went to college right, to try to do something with my life,” Lance laughed at that, mirthless and hollow. “But the stress and… and everything… the cutting just took over my life. Every time things got to be too much, every time I couldn’t figure out my class, every time… Fuck, it just… it got to the point that I didn’t know who I was without the pain or the cutting and the blades. I kept it under wraps, I got so good at acting like I was fine that sometimes I even believed it, but...It was so bad. I couldn’t go to my classes. I told everyone I dropped out because college didn’t fit me, but the truth is I was cutting so much I was too sick to go.”

“It was really bad, okay, but this… it was like,” Lance breathed, and the grin on his face became lighter, “It was like I was in control again. I couldn’t stop, but I could… could compartmentalize it, right? I could put it on a schedule, I could be the one controlling _it_. And… and people would pay me for it? Fuck, that was like, fighting your way to the top and finding out you didn’t just get the prize, right but you won the fucking millionaire jackpot too.”

“Except,” Lance chuckled, “Except not the millionaire part, obviously.”

He paused again, and Keith could see the emotions shift on his face in the glow of the tv screen.

“It’s better this way, you know? It’s like… I’m actually me again.”

“I get it,” Keith said softly. Lance looked worn out, as if the word vomit had taken everything out of him, but he looked at Keith curiously, all attention on him. Keith shifted under his gaze, not used to being watched quite so intently, and licked his lips.

“I mean, I’m not… I haven’t been through what you have, I guess? I used to run, like, a lot. Just, run for hours until I would pass out. Even when I was a kid. I don’t know why, it just made sense somehow…” He considered what to say, how to say it, but there wasn’t much to consider. Lance had practically bled his emotions out and Keith thought it only appropriate he do the same, “I was in foster homes growing up. My parents died, I think. I don't know, honestly I never really asked, but I'd end up moving a lot, all the time and I had no choice about it. I couldn't stay anywhere even if I liked the place, I'd just get packed up and moved on and… and people kept changing and they expected different things… Some of them were nice but some were nasty, and there was no like, cheat book or whatever. I didn’t know what they all wanted.”

Keith could still remember it, fighting the uncertainty as he was packed up again, shipped across state or, one time, across the country. Learning new rules, new personalities, fighting to find a place where he fit in, fighting to find something that was his among the chaos and shifting scenery. Constantly overwhelmed by the sights and scents and the changing faces, constantly hunting for something familiar among it all.

“Running was sort of all I had?” Keith said, unsure of how to go on, unsure if he was even coming across as anything other weird and disjointed.

“It was yours.” Lance said, and Keith looked over to find Lance looking at him with a soft expression in his eyes, a gentle grin, head resting against the back of the couch. Keith didn’t think he’d said anything that deserved that sort of look of understanding, nothing like what Lance had said to him, but somehow - there was something there, between them, something like a connection. Keith could feel the warmth of it in his chest, fluttering against his ribcage when his eyes met Lance’s, and he grinned back easily.

“It grounded me,” Keith admitted. “Running was the same anywhere you were, you know. Even if the temperature changed or the weather or the scenery, you could still run. You could run anywhere… but it got me in a lot of trouble too. Sometimes I’d end up running through people’s yards when I wasn’t paying attention, or even worse - I’d like go running in the middle of the night and pass out in someone’s backyard or in front of their house.”

“Fuck, Forrest Gump,” Lance laughed, shaking the couch with it, and Keith shot him a cold look.

“Forrest Gump never threw up on his foster dad’s shoes when he tried to stop him.”

“Oh my fucking god that’s amazing.” Lance squeaked, beginning to choke from the laughter. It was infectious, and Keith found himself joining in, letting himself relax into the moment. They were okay, in that moment. They were absolutely fine.

“Oh fuck look,” Lance wiped a hand across his face and pointed at the tv. “We’ve officially reached Fifty Year Old Bad B Movies late. Or early. What the fuck time is it anyway?”

Keith laughed, picking up the empty bottles from the coffee table and standing up.

“Do you want another one?” He asked as he headed back to the kitchen.

“Yeah, and fuck hurry up Keith!” Lance called, “They have an iguana!”

 

 

Lance fell asleep slouched on the couch long before the movie finished, but Keith was awake long after. He’d tried to focus on the movie to be able to make fun of it along with Lance, but his mind had bounced off so many different tangents that it was difficult to keep his focus. And now… it wasn’t that he didn’t want to sleep, he was just too busy reconciling Lance and, well, _Lance_. Behind the cam he was a faceless effigy of visceral human function, blood and gore and carnal lust rolled into one. He was lilting words and aroused moans and and he was absolutely and unapologetically filthy. But off cam... he was bravado and loud laughter, stupid jokes and stupid flirting that got him nowhere (Keith had been dragged down to Starbucks by him often enough to confirm that), but he was also soft in every place you wouldn't expect, he was bloodied emotion, he was honest caring and sympathy. He was glow in the dark stars on a ceiling.

Keith couldn't help the fascination, he couldn't help the attraction. It had only been a week but he felt like it had been ages since Lance had moved in, ages during which he’d learned so much about him and yet was still aware of how much more there was left to learn. Maybe it was the alcohol talking but he’d never wanted to know someone as much as he wanted to know Lance right then. He never wanted to be close to someone as badly as he wanted to right then. Maybe because Lance wasn't fantasy, he wasn't an ideal, he wasn't some classical painting, but human, very human and very real. Maybe it was because he made Keith feel real too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. I thought I'd include this, because I don't know how well it came off in the fic itself, but yes sob story for Lance but at the same time it's not - it becomes an addiction for him, and his experience isn't to quite cold turkey, as that hasn't worked, but to take it and make it something that is in his own power to control. Doing BloodCam isn't a continuation of degrading and embarrassing self harm, it's become an expression of his control, it's a celebration of himself. Its him accepting himself, flaws included, and putting them to work for him. He enjoys doing the cam show so much because it is a freedom as well as a boundary. When he cuts on cam he's sharing something that gives him pleasure, and he's reminding himself that he is the one who gets to decide that.  
> Does that make sense?  
> (in a sense it's partially fueled by, in my experience, meeting artists who engage in self-harm and use it in their artworks. In that case, it's usually using their own blood as part of the painting or drawing or creative process. It takes something that is pain and that may portray negative feelings, and transforms it into a piece of art, a work that is more than the pieces that make it up, something that can often be viewed as pleasurable, as having worth, as being positive.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I first plotted this chapter I, for some idiotic reason, thought it would be a good idea to shove SEVEN scenes into it. Seven. There are not seven scenes, I'm sorry. I realized at one point that that was unreasonable to expect of myself, and moved several scenes over to chapter 5.  
> Even so, I think you'll enjoy this one.  
> Here's a sketch of the layout of Keith and Pidge's apartment, to help you visualize things! : [SKETCHY APARTMENT](http://itsdetachable.tumblr.com/post/151546756048/very-horrible-sketch-of-keith-and-pidges)
> 
> And thank you, thank you thank you thank you! I never expected the response that this fic has gotten, you all give me the inspiration to keep writing this. There's a lot I want to say with this fic, and it's become a very close-to-my-heart project. I hope you continue to enjoy! I have a lot planned for the upcoming chapters, it isn't going to end anytime soon. So thank you, again!
> 
> If you feel like chatting really about anything, feel free to find me on Tumblr at [JustBloodCamThings](http://JustBloodCamThings.tumblr.com)  
> Also, I tag all my ridiculousness about this fic as "bloodcam fic"
> 
> Now on Twitter - [itsdetachable on Twitter](https://twitter.com/itsdetachable) BloodCam updates will be tagged bloodcamfic

There were several constants in Keith’s daily routine. One, he always headed straight for the Starbucks by his job straight after work for a tall soymilk latte of whatever flavor happened to come out of his mouth when he reached the register. Two, he’d sit himself down in front of the tv as soon as he got home and drown himself in an hour or two of whatever was playing on the History or Science channel until his brain began functioning again. Three, he’d eat, generally leftover takeout from lunch. Sometimes, if he felt like he had the energy, he’d actually make something for dinner. Other times Pidge did. Between the two of them, they knew how to make eight different meals (even if Pidge argued that the three casseroles Keith could make were basically the same thing _with variations_ ).

Ever since Lance had joined them however, Keith’s daily routine had been rerouted. There was no dinner to be made or takeout to be heated because Lance, enthusiastically true to his word, made dinner _every night_ . Keith was dead certain that in the nearing-three weeks that Lance had been living with them they hadn’t repeated a recipe. What’s more, the food was _good_. Not restaurant quality, but far more reliably edible than anything Keith or Pidge would come up with. Losing that part of the routine wasn’t quite bad, though it did leave Keith fumbling a bit to fill his hours. At least his blog was getting more attention; he’d finally been able to finish editing several posts that had been sitting in his drafts for months.

The other parts of his routine - well, the coffee was still there. He wouldn’t be able to get through his commute back home without chugging it between walking out of the coffee shop door and getting in his car. Nothing helped him navigate crowded streets better than 12 ounces of caffeinated sugar. That part was well and alive. The couch time, however…

He had to make concessions with the couch time. Given the size of their apartment and its layout, it was only fair that the couch area was sort of kind of relegated to Lance. Pidge had her bedroom, full of computers and soldering irons and scrap metal and possibly a bed, Keith had his bedroom, and Lance had the couch, the coffee table, and the full glorious ten by ten feet square between the kitchen, bedrooms, and outside walls where they resided. This meant that more often than not, Lance would be found _on_ the couch when Keith came home, either on his laptop looking for jobs and apartments, or watching TV, or napping (which was worse than the other two because it meant he was both quiet and _unguarded_ and that drew Keith’s attention like a moth to a flame). Either way, couch time had quickly become vegetating in his bedroom time for Keith, which while not exactly _bad_ was in some way _wrong_ because it wasn’t his routine. Sometimes he’d join Lance on the couch to watch whatever show he had on and make small talk, but that wasn’t an option most days. Keith spent _all day talking_ and sometimes he just wanted to come home and… not talk. Which wasn’t much of an option with Lance. Not that the other guy didn’t try to curb his chatter, once he’d realized Keith was in no mood for it for a good two hours after he got home, but _the potential for talking_ hung in the air around them and just the mere hint of it set Keith on edge and made him irritable.

After several days of snapping at Lance for the dreadful act of asking what he was in the mood for for dinner, or - gods forbid - what he thought of the show they were watching, Keith decided that he should spare him the trouble and would retire to his room after getting back each day. It saved Lance from his shitty moods and it saved him from Lance’s icy glares that followed.

That day, however, Keith returned home to find the couch unoccupied. Lance was nowhere to be seen, and Keith almost felt like he was intruding as he approached the couch slowly, glancing around the room. He could hear Pidge’s music playing from behind her bedroom door, and wondered for a moment if maybe Lance was there. But no, he heard Lance’s voice, and leaned slightly to glance at the window at the far back of the apartment. There was a fire escape beyond it, and now that he looked he could see it was open and - yes, Lance was out there, talking on his phone.

Which meant the couch, and the TV, were unoccupied. Grinning to himself, Keith hurried to toss his bag into his bedroom before returning to the living room and dropping into his usual spot with a sigh. It took him a moment to find the remote, but then he turned on the TV and flipped between the History and Science channels. The Hindenburg disaster on one, and ancient architecture on the other. He’d seen enough Hindenburg documentaries to be able to recite most of them in his sleep, so he left it on the ancient architecture.

Lance came back in sometime later, tossing his phone onto the coffee table and greeting Keith with an uncharacteristically mellow “Hey”. Keith “hey’d” back, eyeing Lance curiously as he walked around the coffee table and reached down for his laptop. Unplugging it from the charger, he headed behind the couch. Keith lost sight of him at that point, too lethargic to bother turning his head to look after him, but he could hear Lance settle back there behind him, the laptop clattering against a hard surface. For a long time there was nothing more, just the program playing out on the TV, or at least that’s where Keith’s attention was.

Slowly, he became aware of another sound - of a quiet grumbling coming from behind him. He turned his head to look back, expecting to see Lance sitting on one of the barstools set by the passthrough counter, but the other man wasn’t there. Frowning, Keith sat up straighter so he could look over the back of the couch and finally saw Lance - on his stomach on the floor, one hand propping his head up and one tapping away at his laptop. Keith watched him quietly for a moment; the fall of his t-shirt accentuated the line of his back, the slight curve of his spine, and Keith's eyes traced the lines down across his body. He was tense, Keith could see it in the set of his shoulders and hear it in the grumbling which, now that he was paying attention to it, sounded to be littered with muttered curses.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, watching the shift of Lance’s shoulder blades as he shrugged.

“I can't find a decent place,” Lance groaned, and motioned towards the screen, “Listen to this: One bed one bath, laundry in the building, on the tiny side but its nine-fifty a month, only gas included but that's doable.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Keith said, turning so he could look over the couch more comfortably.

“It's in McKinley Park.” Lance said dryly. Keith furrowed his brows in thought a moment.

“Wait, isn't that where they found that severed head in the lagoon last week?” He said, grimacing.

“Yep.” Lance said, popping the ‘p’. He tapped at the laptop again, exhaling loudly.

“Did you find anything else?” Keith asked, thinking that McKinley Park was too far away, anyways. Then he promptly took that thought and shoved it far into the back of his mind.

“Nothing!” Lance cried out dramatically, rolling over onto his back and flinging his arms out over his head. “There is absolutely nothing I can afford! Keith, there are studios going for sixteen hundred. _Sixteen hundred_. For four walls and a bathroom!”

“Yeah, the rental market is all fucked up.” Keith sighed, “And it’s the end of August, so most of the cheaper places probably got rented out by college students or whatever.”

“Ugh.” Lance rubbed his face with his hands, and his voice came out muffled. “I'm so done. Find me a cardboard box big enough to fit a sleeping bag in, I'll move into an alley behind a pizza place somewhere. Maybe with a Starbucks nearby so I can steal their WiFi. I'll be okay. Very dirty but I'll be fine.”

“You don't have to live in a cardboard box, idiot.” Keith rolled his eyes.

“It's okay,” Lance said sadly, “I'll draw on it with markers to make it more homey. Call it “Lance’s Super Fun Shack”. It'll be great. Sharpies come in so many colors now, I can make it all pretty and the ink won't run in the rain.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Keith had to close his eyes, unable to handle the amount of theatrically dramatic shit spilling out of Lance’s mouth.

“I'll leave my knives with you okay Keith? Take care of them for me will you?” Lance’s voice took on a tearful tone and Keith was choking back chuckles as the other man went on. “And don't worry I won't be cold. I can make friends with the alley cats, they'll huddle around me for warmth. Me and my alley cat army.”

“You're being extra fucking ridiculous today,you know that?” Keith said, his amusement coloring his words.

“Don’t laugh at me Keith, I'm having a very serious crisis here!” Lance cried out indignantly.

Keith did laugh, smothering it into the back of the couch.

“A tarp,” He said after a moment, looking over at Lance again. The other man had moved his hands to his chest and was staring up at the ceiling with a frustrated frown, eyebrows drawn.

“What?” He asked, his expression unchanging.

“You'll need a plastic tarp. For your box.” Keith explained, “So the rain doesn't soak through the top.”

“Fuck.” Lance said quietly, closing his eyes. “You're right.”

Keith let him wallow in quiet self-pity a little longer, rolling thoughts around his head. He knew Lance was a bit pissed at the whole apartment situation. He’d promised to be out of their hair in a couple of weeks and here they were, almost a month later. Keith didn't think either Pidge or him were showing any real irritation over the situation, he certainly hoped they weren’t. As roommates went, Lance wasn't _bad._ Maybe different than what either one of them was used to, but definitely a positive addition to the place.

No, Keith suspected something else was going on that day that was making Lance moody. Maybe the phone call…

“Hey,” He asked, running with the thought, “Who were you talking to earlier?”

Lance didn't answer immediately; he put his hands on his face again and Keith could see how deep the breath he took was, his chest expanding with the depth of it. Maybe he shouldn't have asked, he thought, suddenly feeling uneasy.

“Prosecutor.” Lance said finally, dropping his hands back to his chest and staring up at the ceiling. “For the… The case.”

“Oh,” Keith was taken aback. It wasn't that he'd forgotten that the thing with Zarkon was still, well, a thing, but Lance hadn't brought it up since that one night, and it had been filed away in Keith's mind. “What did they want? Do they want you to testify?”

“Ha! No.” Lance grinned but it was weak. He didn't look over at Keith as he continued, “Apparently there are more than enough witnesses from the previous shit he’s done that they’re going to try to get away without calling me in.”

“Going to _try_?” Keith didn’t like the sound of that.

“It’s a criminal case, so apparently they can’t submit my written testimony as anonymous and they can’t totally write me off from being, what’d he say? Subpoenaed. They won’t do it if they don’t have to, though…” Lance sighed, fingers tapping restlessly against his chest. “But my name’s going to be in the files, along with the site name and stream name and everything…”

Keith didn’t like the tone his voice took towards the end, empty and lifeless.

“Does that mean it’ll all be public?” Keith asked quietly.

“No?” Lance responded, but he didn’t sound too sure. “The guy kept going on about how this wouldn’t affect my personal life or reputation or whatever…”

He sighed, but that quickly turned into a groan, and continued with a laugh that was more misery than mirth, “What does it even matter man? I’m like, losing all my viewers without their help anyways. I’ve been on hiatus three weeks! Three fucking weeks! What the fuck am I going to go back to?”

Oh great. Keith bit his lip and tried to think of some way of stopping Lance’s self-pity tirade before it got out of hand. He’d barely spoken about his stream, or his viewers, since he’d moved in - not more than commenting that he was sending out a notification that he wouldn’t be on for a bit and occasionally mentioning that someone had messaged him asking when he’d come back - but Keith had felt it brewing the past few weeks. God, he didn’t like seeing Lance like this, didn’t like hearing that edge in his voice.

“Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think,” He said, but Lance snorted at that, staring up at the ceiling with furious focus. “Listen, you’ve been doing the stream a while, right? You’ve got a fanbase, okay, and… people who like you? So they’re probably not going to forget about you that easily…”

“You think that?” Lance asked, voice just a tad bit hopeful.

“Yeah. I mean, you keep getting messages, right? I see you checking the site all the time.” Keith continued eagerly.

“Well, yeah,” Lance admitted, shifting slightly on the floor.

“As soon as people see you’re back, they’ll start watching again.” Keith said with a grin. “Think about it - you’re good at it, right? And there’s not a huge influx of cam models willing to do the shit you do, and if there are I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t be half as quality as you are.”

Lance lay there for a moment longer, looking semi-skeptically up at the ceiling as if that were the first time he’d thought of that, that people might actually come back instead of leaving for good. Keith watched the internal debate go on, Lance’s semi-uncertain expression slowly morphing to a reluctant acceptance. After a moment he rolled onto his side and fixed Keith with a mischievous smirk, eyes glittering.

“Will _you_ start watching again?” He asked in a low, sweet drawl, chin propped on his hand. Warmth fluttered in Keith’s chest at his tone, but he replied without hesitation,

“Yes.”

Lance’s eyebrows raised at that, his grin turning pleasantly surprised.

“Seriously?” He asked. There was more than a question there, though, there was a… suggestion? Keith wasn’t sure, he was probably imagining it.

“What did you want me to say?” He replied, and maybe he wasn’t imagining it, because there was something in Lance’s eyes when he looked at him, eyes narrowing as his grin grew.

“Exactly what you said, I guess.” He said with a laugh. Keith raised an eyebrow at that, but Lance only plopped over onto his back again without a word. At least he didn’t look sad anymore. Still, Keith could see his expression fall again, turning pensive and losing the amusement from the moment before. Danny, he thought he'd done good, getting Lance out of his funk before he fell too deep, but maybe he needed more of a distraction. What else could he bring up? Whenever he felt like crap and was on the verge of staring dismally at nothing for hours, he’d go on the internet, find something that he was interested in and try to lose himself for a while. Would it work with Lance? He didn’t know, but it wouldn’t hurt to try...

“Hey, you like planes right?” Keith ventured.

“Do I like planes?” Lance snorted, rolling his eyes and almost sneering, “What do you think?”

Keith almost, _almost_ , said forget it. Almost. It wasn't Lance’s fault he was having a shifty day.

“Check out JetEngineFodder on WordPress.” He said instead. Lance groaned as he rolled back over and faced his laptop. He navigated over to the blog as Keith watched on with slightly nervous anticipation. The only offline person he'd shared his blog with was Pidge. Most people he knew couldn't care less about jets or aviation.

“So what it's all about jet planes?” Lance said, scrolling through the blog. He sounded at least mildly interested, but his lackluster tone annoyed Keith. He put a lot of effort into that blog…

“Wait.” Lance said suddenly, pausing in scrolling. When he continued his voice was bubbling with excitement. “Is this a video of the engine test for the F-42 concept?”

“Oh, yeah,” Keith said. He should probably tell Lance that it was _his_ blog before he got too into it…

“Have you seen this?”

Lance’s excitement was catching and Keith found himself grinning. He was glad that he'd managed to break through Lance’s dismal mood, and though he still thought he should tell him that he ran the blog, he found himself saying instead,

“Not yet.”

He’d probably pay for it later; Lance would no doubt be _pissed_ if he ended up enjoying the blog only to find out Keith ran it. But it was worth it, because the next moment Lance was scrambling to his feet, grabbing his laptop and coming over to the couch. He seated himself next to Keith, close enough that their thighs touched, and a sudden strong tremor of warmth shocked through him. Keith wasn't expecting it - wasn't expecting that trembling _emotion_ in his gut, that tingling of his skin. It wasn't an alien feeling; he'd get struck by it sometimes, maybe when the pretty eyed barista at Starbucks grinned in exactly the right way that the dimples in her cheeks made her face glow and Keith found her absolutely gorgeous, or when a stranger on the street adjusted his hair and it fell into just the right configuration of soft angles that, combined with the lines of his body and depth of his presence, just overwhelmed Keith’s senses for a moment. He just didn't expect it _then_ , when the only thing that had happened was Lance sitting down next to him, setting his laptop on his lap, his knee brushing Keith's, his elbow just missing touching his side.

Keith could smell faint traces of coconut and pineapple body wash, could feel the warmth of Lance’s body next to him, and for a second his focus was lost and his senses reeled. Just a bit. Just enough to thrum warmth through his chest and leave his cheeks feeling a few degrees hotter than normal. He was silently thankful that Lance was so intent on the video. Biting his lip, Keith let his eyes trail down from the screen across the length of Lance’s arms, tracing the trajectories of old and faded scars. He wanted to touch them, run a finger along the inside of Lance’s arm and count them all. He wanted to tell Lance how wonderful he was for not covering them up, how strong. He wanted…

To stop that train of thought before it got away from him. Self-indulgent fantasies should be left for the night, when it was dark and he was alone in his bed and far away from the possibility of embarrassing himself. God, he was bad right after work wasn’t he? He felt too mentally drained to be able to control his thoughts properly. Maybe he should just go back to hiding in his room for a couple hours after coming home from work...

“This thing’s got what, forty five thousands pounds of thrust?” Lance said, and Keith forced his eyes back to the screen and his attention back to Lance’s words, welcoming the distraction.

“Forty eight,” He corrected idly, and Lance snorted.

“Of course you’d know…” He muttered, sounding irritated. Keith rolled his eyes, was Lance seriously going to get hung up on that? But then Lance was tapping his knee against Keith's, sending a tingle up his spine, and when Keith glanced at him he could see Lance grinning good naturedly. Keith somehow knew that grin was meant for him, even if Lance wasn't actually looking _at_ him, directing it _at_ him, and that knowledge made his chest tight. He let himself relax, sit back and watch as Lance continued to browse the blog, grinning himself.

  
  


-

 

Keith hated Wednesdays. He hated making tracking calls on all the stupid shipments that were in progress. He hated taking calls from drivers being rerouted through residential areas, drivers lost in cities, driver’s out in the boonies with faulty GPS’s and no sense of direction. He hated how absolutely everything seemed to go to shit on Wednesdays. Well, that was something of a lie. Things went to shit any day, every day, but Wednesday’s somehow _always_ managed to feel the worst.

For probably the first time since he’d started working at the 3PL, he skipped his post-work latte in favor of getting home sooner. Lance’s friend, Hunk, was back from the Philippines and Lance had begged Pidge and Keith to have him over for dinner. Hunk was apparently a god-sent deity of kindness and good fortune gracing the lives of everyday mortals, according to Lance.

“Hunk is the person you don’t realize you can’t live without until you meet them and they leave and your soul will have no peace until you find him again.” Lance had explained with a reverent expression. Considering Lance’s tendency to exaggeration, Keith took his words with a grain of salt.

Still, he wanted to be at the very least non-snappy when the guy came over, and he hoped to fit in a nap before dinner - which Lance had planned for after six. That gave him at least two hours to nap, maybe two and a half, once he got back. The commute wasn’t horrible, thankfully, though he was absolutely drained by the time he was stepping into the apartment, and entirely unprepared to face the onslaught of loud gunfire that reached him.

“What the fuck!” He almost had to take a step back, tensing into a defensive stance reflexively and casting about for some explanation, heart racing.

“Oh, Keith’s back,” Pidge’s voice was just barely audible above the the rapid-fire gunshots, and Keith warily stepped further into the apartment. Pidge and Lance were seated on the couch, apparently playing some multiplayer shooter at volumes way beyond reasonable, and Keith realized that there was not, in fact, a gun fight going down in his living room.

“Can you guys maybe turn it down?” Keith called as he went back to close the door, slamming it shut louder than he needed to. Getting no answer, he groaned and stomped over to the couch, leaning over the back so he could yell “TURN IT DOWN” right into their ears.

“Fuck!” Lance yelped, falling away from him, and Pidge let go of the controller long enough to smack Keith on the arm.

“Turn it down, seriously.” Keith gave Pidge a shove, in no mood for _any of it. Of this. OF EVERYTHING_. “I wanna go lay down for a bit.”

“Aw, does baby need a nap?” Lance cooed, all laughs, as Pidge paused the game and reached for the controller to turn the volume down.

“YES.” Keith stalked to his room, ignoring the peals of laughter that followed and Pidge’s hushed “I think he does!”. The game turned back on soon after, but at a much more reasonable volume, and once Keith closed the door it was muted enough to suit him.

Sighing irritably, he ran his hands through his hair and tried to will away all the tension in his shoulders and the mild headache he’d been fighting since he woke that morning. He was not in the mood for anything, for Pidge and Lance’s buddy-time, for eating dinner with someone he didn’t know (god sent deity or not), he just wanted to lay down and sleep and not wake up. Ever. Well, maybe eventually, but he’d give an arm and a leg to just be able to let go of everything for a good month and fall into a blissful pool of unconsciousness.

He’d have to make due with a couple hours. Setting the timer on his phone, he tossed it on his bedside cabinet, pulled his jeans off, and crawled under the covers.

 

His alarm went off before he could even settle properly. Or, as it turned out, it went off exactly when he wanted it to. The sunlight slanted through his windows at a sharper angle than when he'd lain down, and there was a distinct lack of gunfire beyond his door. Groaning, Keith rolled over to press his face into his pillow. Did he even sleep? He felt just as worn out as before, his body leaden and his limbs feeling stiff and uncooperative. Maybe he could get out of dinner if he pretended to be so deep asleep he couldn't wake up… No. No, he couldn't do that to Lance. Lance had gotten so pumped for the dinner that his dismay at Keith missing it would probably be astronomical. He might glare. He might pout. He might glare _and_ pout and probably be nasty to Keith for at least one to three days. God, if Lance could give him the cold shoulder for a whole day for something as stupid as accidentally insulting his favorite cat (in Keith’s defense, the picture was not flattering in the least), Keith didn't want to try to imagine just how bad it would be if he snubbed Lance’s actual best friend.

Wearily, he dragged himself out of bed and pulled his pants back on. He felt disgusting. At least he still had time to make himself presentable. With that thought in mind, he took a bracing breath and headed out of his room.

A multitude of scents met him outside his door, spices filling the air with a delicious aroma. His stomach growled, and all thoughts of his weariness and his bad mood and even cleaning up for dinner fell away as he made a beeline to the pass through. Pidge was already seated on one of the bar stools, elbows on the pass through counter as she peered into the kitchen beyond. She glanced at him as he neared, grinning widely.

“Well well, who do we have here?” She asked, nudging Keith in the side as he took a seat on the stool next to her. He grunted in reply, looking into the kitchen to see what Lance was up to.

“I was gonna ask if you got your beauty rest but,” Lance grimaced as he looked over, “I can already see the answer is a no.”

Keith shot him a glare as Pidge laughed. Ignoring the jab, he tried to get a good look at what Lance had on the stove.

“What are you making?

“ _Moros y Cristianos,_ ” Lance said. Keith raised his eyebrows at the impeccable intonation; he had no idea what Lance had said but the way he said it - he hadn't known Lance knew another language. He half-glanced at Pidge for an explanation, but she was already on it, tonelessly stating,

“Rice and beans.”

“Uh, Pidge, don't say it like _that_ ,” Lance groaned, crouching down in front of the stove and disappearing from view. Keith could hear the oven door being opened, and more savory scents filled the air, spices mixed with a hint of boiled tomato.

“Like what?” Pidge asked, breathing the aroma in with a blissful expression.

“Like it's all boring and bland and...and boring!” The oven door closed with a thud, and Lance reappeared, hands on his hips. “This is my _mami_ ’s recipe and you will show it some respect!”

“Really?” Keith asked, interested. Lance had often made references to his family, but while they were always accompanied with a fond smile and often laughter, they were fleeting. Even when asked directly, Lance would gloss over the details and change the subject far too quickly, and far too easily. “Did she teach you?”

“Uh, yeah?” Lance snorted, turning back to the stove where he had a large pot on the burner. “She'd always be making some variation for us but this one was my favorite. She’d usually make it at home but every now and then the whole family’d get together and we’d make it in these big pots in the courtyard, and people would like bring all sorts of dishes and it’d be like a big dinner party…” His voice trailed off a bit before he picked up again, “I, uh, made _ropa vieja_ to go with it, I think you guys will like it.”

“Yeah, well we’ll see if your dish is suitable for our refined tastebuds,” Pidge said haughtily. Lance stuck his tongue out at her as he removed the cover of one pot. Keith grinned, but he didn’t join in. To be completely honest, he’d noticed that cooking didn't seem to come easy to Lance. He had had often caught him looking up recipes online and grumbling about “missing the mark” on some dishes. He was proud of what he could make, however, and Keith didn't see a reason to tease him about it.

“Well, if you're making it I'm sure it'll be good.” Keith decided to say instead. He complimented Lance little enough - he complimented people in general little enough - and it wouldn't hurt, especially if what he was saying was honest.

Lance half turned to him, a curiously surprised expression on his face, as if he wasn’t sure where Keith’s words had come from - and as he did his arm touched the side of the pot he’d just opened. He yelped, jerking back from the stove and frantically shaking it.

“Ow ow ow fuck ow.”

“Oooo,” Pidge breathed in sympathy, and Keith winced.

“Fuuuck,” Lance raised his arm to suck at the burn.

“That’s not going to help,” Keith said, and ignoring Lance’s muffled whimper, leaned over the pass through counter to reach the sink. He could just barely reach the faucet handle, and with some effort he turned it on. “Cold water.”

Lance thrust his arm under the stream of water, the welt shiny and already turning a bright red.

“You know this just makes it hurt worse?” He whined.

Keith sat back down with a huff and rolled his eyes, only to receive a slap from Pidge as soon as he was seated.

“Stop distracting the cook,” She admonished, “What if he burns the food? We won't have anything to eat!”

Keith stared at her blankly, confused. How the hell was he being distracting? His confusion only deepened when Pidge turned right back around to Lance and asked without hesitation,

“So excuse me if this is like being nosy, but where's your family from?”

So Keith was being distracting but Pidge could talk to him? He sighed irritably, crossing his arms on the counter and resting his chin against them as he waited for Lance to answer.

“Cuba. We're Cuban.” Lance turned the faucet off and shook the water from his arm, wincing.

“Really?” Pidge asked, perking up. “That’s cool! Have you ever been to Cuba?”

“I was born there,” Lance said with a grin and a chuckle.

“Oh wow,” Pidge said, eyes wide.

“This is gonna sound really stupid,” Keith said, ignoring Pidge’s snort, “But you, uh… don’t have an accent?”

Lance laughed at that, looking over at Keith with amusement glittering in his eyes.

“Not that stupid,”He said, turning back to the pot he’d opened before and picking up a long wooden spoon. “I came over to live with my Uncle and Aunt in Florida when I was ten. He was really, _really_ , adamant I didn’t end up sidelined like so many other immigrant kids in America and just… wouldn’t let me talk anything but English at home. He thought I’d have a better chance of integrating, of getting somewhere if I learned to speak English without an accent.”

“That’s…” Keith didn’t know what to say. It sounded absolutely ridiculous, to be honest.

“Yeah, that’s… something.” Pidge said, adjusting her glasses and sharing a look with Keith.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Lance said, mixing whatever was in the pot. “And they’re good people. They got me on a good road, you know? And in the end, my Uncle was right, so…”

Lance shrugged, turning the burner under the pot off, and added after a breath, “But I mean… I wouldn’t have minded if a little of the accent stayed…”

“But seriously…” Pidge began, but Keith was finding it hard to follow the conversation suddenly, voices drifting away into the background. Pidge was laughing, and Lance was shaking the wooden spoon at her, but Keith was somewhere else - remembering cold seats and cold rooms and long car drives to nowhere. Remembering a new place, surrounded by new faces and new walls, with the only thing left of his past the few words he remembered and the memories he’d brought with him. Remembering when the words were called _wrong_ , when they became thoughts instead of words, when the inflection was lost and the meaning slipped away until the only thing left was a hollow where they used to be.

He frowned, running a hand through his hair and struggling to focus back on the conversation. He was so tired, the day was too long, and no matter how good the food was that Lance was making it no longer seemed like enough incentive to keep him awake any longer.

The doorbell rang, and he jerked in his seat, head reeling for a moment.

“Just the doorbell, Keith,” Pidge said, patting his knee reassuringly.

“I know that.” Breathing out, he rubbed his face irritably. Too late to back out now. He had his eyes closed behind his palms but he could hear Lance moving in the kitchen, setting something on the counter.

“I’ll go get the door.” Lance said, and Keith dropped his hands, staring at Pidge helplessly.

“Are you okay?” Pidge asked, looking just slightly perturbed. “The doorbell hasn’t bugged you in a while…”

“I’m fine,” Keith cut her off quickly. “I’m just really worn out today, my head was sort of… drifting. Anyways, look at me. Do I really look like crap?”

“You look fine,” Pidge laughed, reaching out to ruffle his hair. Keith grimaced, trying to pull away. “You just have that squinty-eyed grumpy-cat look when you just wake up. Now you’re… wide-eyed and awake grumpy-cat.”

“That’s an improvement?” Keith grumbled.

“Just stop glowering and you’ll be fine.” Pidge said, patting his cheeks.

“I’m not glowering Pidge.” He sighed and rolled his eyes, and she continued patting his cheeks, harder now.

“You’re doing it right now.” She grinned widely and squished his face between her palms. Keith fixed her with an unimpressed glare.

“Am I going to look like a fool in front of Lance’s friend?” He asked, his voice distorted.

“Only if you talk.” Pidge reassured him, finally letting go of his face.

“You’re the best, you know that.” He groaned, trying to fix his hair. There were voices at the door, and Pidge hopped off the barstool, stretching.

“Off your chair, buddy. Meet and greet time.”

“Can we fast forward to eat and sleep time?”

“No,” Pidge grabbed one of his arms and pulled hard, nearly toppling him off the barstool, and Keith finally conceded.

“Fine.” He got to his feet, smoothing out the wrinkles in his tee shirt and hoping he didn’t look as bad as he felt.

“Guys! _This_ is Hunk.” Lance called out as he hopped from behind the corner, presenting the man who’d followed him in with a flourish. “Hunk, these are Keith and Pidge.”

Hunk was a big guy, not much taller than Keith but a veritable mountain of a man in the best way possible. He had a warm, open face and a genuine smile and eyes the color of chocolate syrup and Keith was dead certain this man gave the absolute best hugs on the entire planet.

“Hey there, nice to meet you two finally, Lance has told me so much about you-”

His voice cut off suddenly, his eyes widening. Keith frowned at the sudden changed and looked at Lance. Lance looked at Hunk, then at Pidge, who was also staring at Hunk with a dumbfounded expression on her face.

“Waaaaait a minute, do you two know each other?” Lance asked, pointing to each of them in turn.

“What!” Pidge exclaimed, ignoring Lance’s words and pointing at Hunk. “ _You’re_ Lance’s best friend?”

“Uh, yeah,” Hunk said, eyes still wide, and pointed back at her, “Lance is living with _you_?”

“What the hell, they know each other?” Lance shot Keith a look of sheer incredulity, hands spread in puzzlement.

“I guess?” Keith had no idea what was going on. Where would they even have met? He didn’t know too much about Hunk, but Pidge wasn’t exactly coasting through social circles herself. It was one thing they had in common - a semi-apathy towards social functions. They both enjoyed them, but neither one of them had much drive to go out and find them. Except for…

“Wait, did you two meet at that… that thing of yours?” Keith asked, looking at Pidge.

“Oh what thing? There’s a thing?” Lance jumped at that bit of knowledge, grasping it tightly in his metaphorical paws. “What’s the thing?”

“Lance…” Hunk began, hands up as if he was trying to defend himself from the inevitable questioning.

“Is it a hacker thing? Like a… a super secret hacker club?” Lance looked excited at the prospect, but Hunk just stared at him with a blank expression.

“I’m not a hacker Lance. I’m an engineer. I program, yes, but I’m an _engineer_ -”

“A ROBOT HACKER CLUB!” Lance said triumphantly. “You hack robots!”

“Okay, this conversation just went-” Pidge made a whistling sound and swept her hand through the air. “So I’m just going to rein it in here if that’s all right with the rest of you - yes, we met at the Friday night thing.”

“Okay, but is it a super secret robot hacker club?” Lance demanded, turning to fix her with a hard look.

“There are some things I am not at liberty to discuss.” Pidge answered evasively.

“Hunk?” Lance turned to his best friend, grinning widely. “Are you involved in a super secret robot hacker club?”

“I’m sorry Lance,” Hunk said with a sigh. “Pidge told you, there’s just some things we’re not at liberty to discuss.”

Lance pouted, and Hunk crossed his arms, pointedly looking away from him. A moment later he sniffed, and suddenly he was beaming, turning back to Lance with the biggest and brightest grin Keith had ever seen in his life.

“Did you make _moros y cristianos_ ? With _ropa vieja_?”

“Uh, what do you think?” Lance was obviously still unhappy about being denied information about the secretive friday meeting - and to be honest Keith was as well, what was it anyways? - but even if he crossed his arms to look pissed he still managed a cocky grin.

“Maybe we should get plates?” Keith ventured, seeing as no one else was making that call.

“I for one agree with my glowery faced friend here-” Pidge said, and Keith did glower, right at her for that unnecessary dig, - “and say we should proceed with dinner.”

Lance rushed to get the food ready - the _ropa vieja_ was still in the oven - while Pidge squeezed into the kitchen beside him, pulling plates out to set on top of the pass through counter and handing utensils across to Keith. Hunk hovered uncertainly at the fringes, looking eager to help but unsure of where to even start.

“Anything I can do?” He asked Keith finally.

“We got it,” Keith said, grinning at him. It must not have been his usual “I’m tired as fuck” scary grin because Hunk actually grinned back. “You’re a guest.”

“Put him to work, Keith!” Lance called from the kitchen.

“No, unlike _some_ people I know how to treat guests.” Keith snapped back, taking the napkins from Pidge as she passed them over.

“I like you already,” Hunk laughed.

“Don’t worry,” Pidge said, grinning over at them. “It passes.”

Keith shot her a half-hearted glare and she flipped him the bird, laughing.

There was a significant burst of mouth-watering aromas as Lance began portioning out the rice and beans onto the plates. Keith had to admit, it was absolutely nothing as boring as… well, rice and beans. The rice had been tinted a gorgeous pale brown, and there were pieces of green and red peppers mixed in along with the beans. The aromas only intensified once Lance pulled out the _ropa vieja_ , and Pidge groaned in barely contained excitement at the site.

“God Lance, serve it faster!” She said, shoving at his shoulder.

“You know what would help? If someone - I’m not using names here - but if _someone_ helped me instead of standing _right next to me_ as useless as a lone traffic cone during rush hour.” Lance replied caustically.

“Bite me.” Pidge squeezed past him out of the kitchen, laughing when he stuck his tongue out at her, and joined Keith and Hunk.

“So… we don’t have a table. Except for the coffee table.” Keith said apologetically, looking at Hunk. “We just usually sit on the couch and armchair and eat on that.”

“That works for me.” Hunk replied good naturedly. They grabbed the plates and forks and headed over, Pidge already shoveling food into her mouth as she headed to her usual spot on the armchair. Hunk took a moment to breathe in the aromas after he sat, a pleased smile on his face.

“You know, I taught Lance how to cook,” Hunk said proudly after a few bites.

“Ugh, Hunk, you weren’t supposed to tell them that!” Lance said in a stage whisper, making eyes at the larger man.

“What, I wasn’t?” Hunk gave him a wide-eyed look. “Sorry!”

He wasn’t sorry, evidenced by the healthy chuckle he gave directly after. Keith decided, then and there, that he definitely liked Hunk.

They fell into a comfortable pattern of small talk over their plates, interrupted only when they realized they had nothing to drink. Keith volunteered on that count, seeing as he wasn’t really bringing much to the chatter anyways. Bringing over whatever beverages the others wanted at least got him up and moving, which helped him keep awake. It was getting harder now that he’d eaten something, especially considering the dishes Lance had made were probably the best thing he’d ever made for them, hands down. Keith could probably eat it until he dropped into a food coma that night, and then eat it again for breakfast, it was that good.

He settled back onto the couch next to Hunk, relaxing and trying to catch the thread of the current conversation.

“So what do you talk about at this super secret club?” Lance was asking. He had not forgotten about that, apparently, nor was he content with letting it go.

“Stuff.” Hunk said evenly.

“And things.” Pidge added, looking forlornly down at her plate. “That was really fucking good Lance, like, phenomenally good. I retract any statements I may have made previous to consuming this literal piece of slow roasted, spicy heaven.”

“Thank you,” Lance said, “I really appreciate that. Now stop changing the subject and tell me-”

“Lance,” Hunk heaved a long-suffering sigh. “We can’t. That’s just how it is - we don’t share our personal information there, we don’t share the information from _there_ in our personal life.”

“Kinky,” Lance noted, “And yet-”

“And yet we need to figure out what we’re doing after dinner.” Pidge interrupted smoothly. “Which is now, seeing as we’re all holding plates that are empty of food.”

Lance pouted, eyes narrowed as he glanced between Hunk and Pidge. Keith got the feeling that he would somehow, some way, find out what happened on Friday nights, eventually. That day wasn’t there yet, however, and as Keith offered to take the dishes back to the kitchen, Pidge rattled off the multiple game systems they owned, offering Hunk his choice of games.

“How about Mario Kart?” Keith asked as he walked back, unable to keep himself from grinning. He stood at the edge of the couch, just _waiting_ for the reaction he knew would come.

“No!” Lance shot him a fierce glare, eyes blazing, and accompanied it with a pointed finger. “No Mario Kart!”

“Why not?” Hunk asked, nonplussed by Lance’s vehemence. “What’s wrong with Mario Kart?”

“Keith is really good at Mario Kart.” Pidge explained with a wry grin and a sigh.

“Cheating level good!” Lance growled, still shaking his finger in Keith’s direction.

“Maybe I’m not that good…” Keith said, carefully choosing his words as he locked eyes with Lance. “Maybe you’re just that bad.”

Pidge’s mouth shaped into a shocked little “o”. Hunk raised a hand to his face, looking like he couldn’t decide if he should laugh or cry. And Lance - Lance stared at Keith with the fire of pure and unadulterated rage burning behind his eyes, his entire body tensing.

“Oh. OH. That is IT!” Lance sprung to his feet as Keith looked on, unperturbed. “You are going DOWN tonight! Tonight - _tonight_ is the night I beat you at Mario Kart!”

“Oh my god,” Pidge rocked back in the armchair, laughter bubbling out from behind the hands she’d plastered to her face. “Oh my god not again…”

“We… we get to play too, right?” Hunk asked hesitantly, looking up at Lance with a hopeful grin.

“Yes! More witnesses for Keith’s downfall!” Lance hopped over the coffee table and starting pulling out the controllers.

“Are you serious right now?” Keith asked, more out of habit than anything. Riling Lance up wasn’t always a fun time - but when it was a fun time it was absolutely fucking _best_. And even if he knew the next few hours were going to be filled with Lance being as obnoxiously competitive as possible, it still sounded like a great time. He wouldn’t be caving to that horrible weariness then at least.

“What do you think?” Lance tossed one of the Gamecube controllers they used at Keith, hitting him square in the chest. The asshole had good aim, Keith had to give him that.

“Thanks for that,” Keith said, rubbing his chest and sitting back on the couch.

“Yeah, you won’t be thanking me after I’ve kicked your ass!” Lance muttered, passing rest of the controllers out as Pidge turned on the TV. “Get ready to be annihilated!”

 

Lance, once again, did not kick Keith's ass at Mario Kart, but despite hurled curses and general anarchy, the night was ridiculously enjoyable. Hunk stayed for hours, turning out to be just as engaging and amazing as Lance had promised them - the man didn’t seem to have a bad bone in him. They played several more games, talked well into the night, and by the time Hunk was leaving it was well past midnight. The night had, despite Keith’s horrid mood and even more horrid weariness, turned out to be absolutely great.

  
  


That night, however, may also have been the night that cemented in Keith’s mind the thought that he just might not survive having Lance live with them. He’d always been attracted to Lance - he hadn’t continued to watch his show merely for the bloodplay aspects after all - but it had been a surface level thing, he’d thought. Keith hated his inability to properly parse his attractions - they always crept up on him, feeling like they’d come out of nowhere even though they obviously hadn’t. One of the problems was that he found a lot of people attractive. Hell, he found people _in general_ attractive, all their presences and shapes and lines and curves. The sense of general aesthetic attraction permeated through pretty much all of his social interactions. He just… liked people, even if he was absolute shit at dealing with it.

And for the longest time he’d been thinking that was what it was with Lance, that general aesthetic appeal now magnified by the fact that Lance was _around him_ and no longer just an unnamed person on a screen. The truth was so much worse, and it had him praying for some sort of rescue because how could he enjoy Lance’s laughter so much? How could he enjoy riling him up just to see his eyes spark fire? Or enjoy talking with him about ridiculous shit he couldn’t remember the next day? How could he want more of it, too, more talking and more of _him_ , how could he miss him when he was just in the other room how could he…

That night was horrible in the context of slow-burning awakenings. Lance was animated, as always, but with Hunk around it was different. It only became apparent then that he was somewhat reserved around Pidge and Keith - he was so completely the opposite with Hunk. They jabbed each other in the side, high-fived eagerly, at one point Lance had just begun using Hunk as a pillow to slouch on and Hunk had let him. They were so completely comfortable with each other it was… it was kind of heartwarming. Keith was a little jealous, in all honesty. He missed having someone he could just _be with_.

It wasn’t until later, when he was back in bed and trying to get at least a couple hours of sleep before work, that he realized there was more to it than that. His thoughts drifted wildly, he was exhausted and too tired to keep a hold on them, and he found himself thinking: what if Lance leaned on _him_ out of the blue? Would he let him? He probably would let him, even if Lance was too animated to sit still for too long and would end up jabbing him in the side with his elbow. Keith wouldn’t mind them touching. He wouldn’t mind touching him...

No, he _wanted_ to touch him. Cognizant awareness crashed down around him that night, in an almost physical wave of emotion that bolted him to his bed and had him cursing at himself under his breath.

Fuck, he wanted to touch Lance. Not in a weird, lewd way - just touch his shoulder, or hold his hand, feel him be real. He wanted to feel him as more than just another body somewhere in the same room. Sometimes when he’d sit next to Lance and watch TV he’d get struck by the urge to run his finger along the edge of the other man’s arm, circle his wrist bone, line their fingers up, lace them together, feel the warmth of their palms. Or sometimes Lance would say something, lips quirked into that cocky grin he wore so well and so often, and - fuck - Keith would fight back the urge to kiss him, just to see if he tasted as warm as he looked. He wanted to know what it would be like to curl up against him, put his arms around him and feel his heartbeat next to his own. God, Keith just wanted to be _close to him_ , and it was wrecking him. No wonder he was so fucking irritable all the time.

He knew it was a bad idea - he couldn't even be sure that Lance felt anything for him. He'd been to enough coffee shops and take out places with him over the past weeks (lance seemed incapable to staying still, and just as incapable of going anywhere without dragging someone along for the ride) to know that self-sure cocky flirt was his default setting. Any weird semi-flirtatious things he may have said and done in the past few weeks could very well be chalked up to his personality.

Besides, Keith had tried that already. He'd tried relationships with people who weren't Ace, people who expected intimacy in a way he couldn't give, and the thought of getting involved in another relationship like that tinged all his thoughts of Lance with a sub current of dread. He was tired of hearing _but have you tried it?_ , was tired of being told to _just try harder_ , so tired of being told _it's not you_ when he damn well knew it was him. It was always him. He couldn’t imagine it being any different with Lance, Lance who practically made a living from being an idealization of sexuality.

No, it couldn't work. No matter how badly he longed for it.

 

-

 

That Saturday Keith ran both harder and longer than he had in awhile. His chest burning, his legs aching, he kept pushing for another mile, another minute, not knowing what he was chasing but horribly aware of what he was running _from_. He returned to the apartment well past eight, sweaty and exhausted and ready to collapse. The sound of cartoons drifted out from the living room, and he sighed as he closed the door behind himself. He kicked his shoes off and headed further into the apartment, brushing his sweaty bangs off of his forehead.

Lance was up, as he’d suspected, sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal in hand. He looked over and nodded in greeting, his mouth apparently too full to speak, and Keith nodded back wordlessly. Lance had already folded and put away the blankets he slept in and stowed them under the coffee table with the pillows, saving only one to balance his cereal bowl on, and the empty couch cushions looked horribly inviting. Keith knew he should really go take a shower or something, but instead he ended up falling into his corner on the couch, slouching low and propping his feet up on the table.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Lance said after a long moment, placing the now-empty bowl onto the table. Keith grunted in reply, frowning at the cartoon - he wasn’t sure he recognized it and he wasn’t sure if he understood the humor. Taking Keith’s non-verbal response as an affirmative, Lance continued, “Not to be a total weirdo, but… do you shave your legs? I just… noticed…”

“Wax, actually,” Keith replied, wincing as he stretched an arm across his chest. He’d stopped to use the park’s outdoor chin up bar when he got too winded to run, and it felt like he might’ve overdone it. His shoulders and elbows felt super sore and his muscles burned as he stretched his arms gingerly. “I don’t like the feel, from the hair. It’s weird.”

“Ah,” Lance said. He seemed oddly reserved that morning, no rapid fire chatter, no insistence on conversation. Maybe he just wasn’t fully awake yet. Keith didn’t mind, he wasn’t in the mood for talking really, his mind still in that weird white noise haze it would get when he pushed himself too hard and running more on autopilot than anything. He kept thinking he should get up and get to the bathroom and wash up, he was sweaty and gross and his tank was sticking to him uncomfortably. He probably stank. Fuck. He really needed to clean up, but he was also tired and wanted to crash, and he couldn’t decide which he’d rather do just yet.

“So, uh, good run?” Lance asked after another moment.

“I guess, the weather was nice.” Keith said, and then his words were racing ahead of his awareness of them, “You should come out with me sometime.”

“At seven in the morning? It’s like you don’t know me at all.” Lance responded with a laugh. Keith found himself grinning in response.

“We can go at a different time, you know.” Keith said, cocking an eyebrow as he glanced over at the other man. “The park doesn’t close after nine a.m.”

“I know that,” Lance replied, not looking at Keith. He was probably _avoiding_ looking at him, probably because he looked as gross as he felt. He really should go take a shower.

“They have like, workout places there too. Like chin up bars and those weird… seesaw things. That don’t seesaw. I don’t know what they’re for but they have them.” Keith kept talking instead, because for some reason the thought of Lance joining him on a run was appealing all of a sudden. He was certain he could beat Lance in a race, easy.

“Okay, and that would interest me because…?” Lance smirked, looking over at him.

“Because I know you work out?” Keith rolled his eyes, pushing his hair back out of his face again and tucking it back behind his ears. “No one gets a body like yours without putting some work into it.”

Lance made an odd, muffled noise, and Keith looked over to see him holding his fist to his mouth. He coughed into it a couple times, and Keith’s brow furrowed as he eyed him.

“You okay?” He asked, and Lance nodded, his eyes wide.

“Yeah I just, uh, thought I was gonna sneeze,” Lance said in a strained voice, grinning at him. Keith gave him an odd look, but whatever. Sighing to himself, he figured it was probably time to get washed up. He was starting to get hungry and his brain had finally come back from the war, his thoughts back to plugging along without the static haze surrounding them.

“Right,” Keith said, and dragged himself to his feet finally. He stretched his arms above his head, wincing as the sore muscles stretched painfully. “Anyways, I’m going to go take a shower.”

“Yeah, you go do that,” Lance called after him, somewhat weakly, as he headed for the bathroom. Halfway there he realized he didn’t take a change of clothes with himself, and he headed back towards his room. Passing the couch, he noticed that Lance had changed position - he was lying halfway across the couch, his face pressed into the pillow he’d been holding.

“Uh, are you sure you’re okay?” Keith asked, just slightly concerned. Lance wasn’t without his antics, but…

“Peachy,” Came the man’s muffled response, only barely recognizable over the dialogue in the cartoon, but he didn’t move. Rolling his eyes, Keith headed on into his bedroom to grab some clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there's anything that seems off, or that I got wrong, etc, please let me know.
> 
> Considering my posting schedule I'm considering renaming this fic "SATURDAY NIGHT SHITPOSTING"


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, so, I'm very very sorry for missing last week. I wanted to update but life had other plans.  
> As an apology, please accept my humble offering of a simple pic of Lance in his cam model get up that I drew after finishing ch. 4: (nsfw, self-harm/blood/cutting you know the drill): [clicky clicky](http://itsdetachable.tumblr.com/post/151592906763/couldnt-write-so-why-not-draw-for-my-bloodcam)
> 
> I had to rearrange scenes, cut out half a scene that didn't really do anything, and ignore my job for a day or so in order to get this chapter to behave. I hope you enjoy - please let me know if you notice anything off or weird or whatever.
> 
> And always, thank you thank you thank you for all your kind words and comments! I'm so excited to see how many people enjoy this fic, and I hope you continue to  
> Also, I'm sorry for the lack of actual bloodplay in these chapters but I PROMISE you the time will come for its grand return. 
> 
> As always, if you feel like getting in contact with me you can find me as [JustBloodCamThings on tumblr](http://JustBloodCamThings.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Now on Twitter - [itsdetachable on Twitter](https://twitter.com/itsdetachable) BloodCam updates will be tagged bloodcamfic

For some reason Lance had become an irrational jerk the past few days. Keith didn't know what had happened; everything would be going just fine and then Lance would be making a snide comment or saying something sarcastic and pushing it until Keith finally snapped back at him. He couldn't understand just what had happened between them - he thought they were fine. Hell, he'd actually thought they were getting along _great_. Even if they bickered it seemed… friendly. Not at all venomous or harmful. What had changed?

Keith wanted to ask, clear the air maybe? But the one time he tried was in the middle of an argument, and yelling “What the fuck is wrong with you!” at Lance had only made the situation _worse_.

Talking to people was really fucking difficult, Keith decided. F-minus, would not recommend.

It didn't help that Lance would seem to 180 not long after, go back to being something like normal after a few minutes had passed most of the time. It left Keith reeling with uncertainty, unsure if the next thing he said would bring the sharp edge back to Lance's tone. He’d begun to approach every conversation warily, feeling it out with simple, noncommittal responses.and sure, for the most part things were fine, but when Lance got snappy he got _snappy_ and Keith wasn't sure how to deal with it. It riled him right up and put him on the defensive - and unfortunately his ‘defensive’ passed for ‘aggressive’ nine times out of ten.

 

That was exactly what had happened Monday night - they were watching some criminal procedural show and Keith had mentioned how unrealistic it was (because it _was_ ) and Lance snarked back about how it wasn't supposed to be realistic just _fun_ and _exciting_ \- and then Keith couldn't keep from getting into how shows like that ruined people's perceptions of what being a criminal scene investigator actually was, and before he knew it Lance was yelling something about “being a fucking know it all” at him and Keith was, for some reason he couldn't remember, calling Lance “a shallow dick” and it took _Pidge_ of all people screaming at them that they should _think of the children_ to get them to stop.

It was all the more jarring considering Keith had come back home from work _that same day_ to find Lance mashing avocados in the kitchen.

“You're always inhaling that store bought crap,” He'd said when Keith had asked what he was doing, eyes sparkling and grin friendly, “I thought you should learn what _real_ guacamole tastes like.”

It tasted pretty damn awesome. Maybe, Keith had thought later, maybe Lance was irritated that Keith had eaten it all in one sitting. Maybe he’d thought Keith would make him make more (and well he wouldn't mind it, but he wouldn't have demanded it). Maybe _that’s_ why Lance was being such a dick. It didn’t actually make sense but by that point, Keith had come to the conclusion that there were a lot of things about Lance that didn’t make sense, and he was too fucking tired to figure them all out.

 

Keith just wished he could stop thinking about it. He’d been at work for almost an hour and despite having serviced at least ten calls he couldn’t remember any of them, all because he was trying to make sense of whatever it was going on between him and Lance. God, why was he even bothering? Lance would find an apartment and move out - he was going to visit a couple prospective places that very day - and he’d be out of his hair soon enough.

That thought didn’t make him feel any better, and the horrible and unnecessary crush that was incubating itself within his ribcage roiled fitfully in response. Another thing to add to his growing list of annoyances. He sighed, rubbing his eyes and wishing the hours would pass faster.

His phone buzzed on the desk, and he narrowed his eyes at the flashing screen. There were very few people who would bother him this early in the morning, and wasn't in the mood to deal with any of their shit. The texts were relentless, however, and his phone buzzed a couple more times. Grumbling under his breath, he pulled it over and swiped the screen on.

 

CouchTroll (5:54am): tell me

CouchTroll (5:54am): (image sent)

CouchTroll (5:55am): does this look like Ben Franklin

 

What the… Keith squinted at the picture Lance had sent. It was a raw egg splattered against the kitchen floor, gunky with flour, the yolk pierced and spilling. He tilted his head slightly as he tried to make something out, maybe if he looked at it from another angle it would look different… Fuck, he was always horrible at Rorschach blots. He sighed, rolling his eyes as the phone lines around him rang.

 

Keefer (5:58am) ur up too early

Keefer (5:58am): go back to sleep

CouchTroll (5:58am): cant!!!

CouchTroll (5:59am): making waffles!!!!

 

Waffles. Lance was making waffles. Keith smothered an irritated groan - he'd been late to work so he hadn't grabbed breakfast, and the breakfast vendor wouldn't be in for another hour at least, and Lance was in his apartment making waffles. His stomach growled pitifully, even as the phone buzzed again in his hand and another notification popped up:

 

GreenMachine (06:00am): he cant Keefer he is making waffles

GreenMachine (06:00am): !!!!!

 

 _They_ were making waffles. Keith was suddenly very, very glad to be at work, despite his hunger. He’d made the mistake of going into the kitchen when Lance and Pidge were making food together only once _and never again._ Putting his phone on silent to avoid the inevitable slew of waffle-making related mishaps that would no doubt be following, he put the phone on his desk and changed his status back to “On Call.”

A moment later he reached out and put the phone back on vibrate. Everyone deserved to live a little, and maybe it would make his day go faster...

 

-

 

“So.” Lance began, and then just stood there with his hands on his hips, waiting for acknowledgement from Keith.

Keith eyed him, slightly confused, from his seat on his bed. He had his laptop on his knees, and had been in the middle of reading the newest _Cryptids Weekly_ blog posting, when Lance had opened his bedroom door and walked inside. Now he was looking at Keith’s room with a critical eye, as if he’d never barged into it before - he had - and was seeing it all for the first time - he wasn’t. It still made Keith slightly self-conscious, because he knew it wasn’t exactly _tidy_. He’d worn three different hoodies the past three days and each of them lay in a different part of the room. His clean laundry was in a laundry bag on the chair by his desk and there was a pile of books on the floor by his bookshelf that he’d just… left there. For later.

Whatever. If Lance wanted to silently judge him, he could go right ahead.

“What?” He asked, looking back at the laptop screen.

“So, uh,” Lance cleared his throat. “Pidge may have _hinted_ … that you have, uh, a collection? Of sharp objects?”

Keith looked back up at Lance. The other man looked just a bit hesitant, a shy grin on his face and his hands clasped now behind his back. Keith was honestly a bit surprised; Pidge did nothing but give him shit about his knife collection - _other people collect normal things like stamps and coins_ \- so he rarely brought it up with anyone else.

“Yeah,” Keith said, and after a moment where Lance stared at him expectantly, asked, “Do you want to see it?”

Lance grinned, nodding eagerly, and Keith shut the laptop and slid it onto the bed.

“I’d show you mine but it’s all packed up,” Lance said as Keith got off the bed, tone bubbly.

“It’s not that impressive…” Keith said as he kneeled down by his bed. Despite a slight apprehension, he was feeling a bit excited as well - maybe some of Lance’s excitement was bleeding over to him, or maybe it was just knowing that Lance was as interested as he was. Leaning over, he reached under his bed and grabbed the large case hidden underneath, sliding it out smoothly. It really wasn’t all that impressive; a black hard case two feet by two and a half and only a few inches tall with a combination lock at the front. He lifted it to his bed and Lance stepped over eagerly.

“You know, I’m a little miffed I had to find out from Pidge,” He said, crossing his arms as he watched Keith spin the numbers on the lock.

“I don’t really tell anyone about it,” Keith replied. The numbers clicked into place, and the lock snapped open. “People say it’s neat but what they’re really thinking is “this guy’s a secret serial killer or something”.”

Lance laughed, “Trust me, I know the feeling.”

Keith grinned at his warm tone; it felt good to be understood. It felt good to share his collection with someone he knew would appreciate it. He opened the case, eyes flickering over all the knives secured inside to confirm they were still there. Most were throwing knives and daggers, small blades of different shapes and sizes. A couple types of kunai, a stainless steel diver’s knife, a couple boot knives (that he absolutely _never_ actually wore out, absolutely, of course not), an antique bone-handled push dagger were all in view, the light glinting off of sharp edged and well-cared for metal.

“Woah,” Lance said breathlessly, and when Keith looked at him he could see that his eyes had lit up. He reached out a hand reflexively, fingers twitching, but stopped himself just short of reaching into the case. Hesitantly, he looked to Keith, a questioning look in his bright eyes, a silent request for permission. Keith grinned and nodded, sliding the case a little closer to Lance and watching as the other man’s face lit up with a bright smile.

“I don’t know why, but I never actually got any throwing knives.” Lance said softly, running fingers over each blade in turn. “I really should, they’re so _nice_. Like, they’re so… lethal looking.”

Lance made an uncertain noise, like he wasn’t sure if he’d used the right words.

“I know, the angles, the curves,” Keith said, slipping a kunai out of its fitting and holding it up. It was well balanced, and one of the best from his collection. Holding it up between them, he let the light play off the edge, watching the glint travel along it. “They have a subtle sort of… presence. Like… like a little black dress at an evening party, low cut, with stiletto heels.”

Keith paused, reconsidering what he'd said as Lance muffled his laughter.

“Okay, I have no idea what I was going for there,” Keith admitted, frowning down at the blade in his hand.

“It made sense,” Lance said, still chuckling. “Sort of. I mean, I got what you meant.”

“At least one of us did.” Keith said with a grin. He watched as Lance pulled the diver’s knife out, fingers playing across the edge. He looked happy, he looked comfortable. He looked a little wistful as well though, like he was missing something and this was only partly helping.

"Hey, what's this?" he asked, reaching over to pull at a flap at the top of the compartment. Keith didn't answer him, only waited in quiet anticipation as Lance pulled the flap up. Lance gasped, eyes widening at what he’d revealed.

“Is that a machete? Is it real?” He exclaimed, and turned to Keith excitedly. “Can I take it out? Can I?”

“Go for it,” Keith said, taking a step back so Lance could reach the snaps. He loosed it quickly, and lifted it up with an almost reverent expression on his face.

“I fucking love machetes.” He said quietly, a blissful smile on his face as he lifted the blade in one hand and holding it out in front of himself. Keith knew how it felt; perfectly balanced, the smooth leather of the handle fitting your palm like it was meant for it. He kept the blade clean, kept it honed to a sharp edge. It wasn't a fine blade, no finesse to it - it hacked things apart, it was heavy (if well balanced), it was long and, if you didn't know how to use it, unwieldy. But the machete he owned had presence, had its own character - stains on the leather winding around the hilt, slight discoloration on the blade itself. It had memories.

“You don't have one?” Keith asked after a moment of watching Lance play his fingers along the blade, swinging the blade in slow, easy arcs through the air. It was almost embarrassing how _personal_ it felt, like Lance was...was touching him. How weird was that. How fucking weird was that… And still Keith couldn't tear his gaze away from Lance and from the blissful, adoring expression on his face, a bit unhappy it wasn't directed at him.

He breathed deep, tearing his eyes away before his expression belied his feelings. He was fucking jealous of a machete, what had his life become.

“No,” Lance said after a long moment with a sigh, as if he’d only just remembered he’d been asked a question.“I mean I've seen a ton for sale but I… I like my blades to like, speak to me? You know? I don't just want to have it, I want it to… to _be_ something.”

“Yeah,” Keith knew what he meant, knew the difference between liking a knife he saw and needing it, feeling a connection to it. So he sat on his bed, eyes finding Lance again as he continued swiping the air with the machete in exaggerated slices and stabs, and let himself talk, “A few years ago I won a trip to Peru off of one of those online ads, and since I wasn't really doing anything at the time I decided to go. It was supposed to be really fancy, but I got it changed to a hiking expedition to Machu Picchu.”

“You've been to Machu Picchu?” Lance asked, voice cracking slightly. He looked at Keith, his eyes narrowing as he lowered the machete. Keith almost found it hilarious how menacing he looked at that moment, especially when jealousy tinged his words, “ _You_ have been to Machu Picchu.”

“Yeah,” Keith grinned as that jealous look in Lance’s eyes grew. “I think I even have a few pictures up on Facebook…”

He paused, thinking back on that time - the humid forest air, the bugs, the trees and plants all around them. Camping on the trail, sharing rations with the other hikers, learning bits of the language and traditions of the people who lived in the area. He'd enjoyed himself greatly, fully delved into the experience and lost himself in the enormity of nature and history surrounding him. Nothing could match the view of stars in the nighttime over the Andes, the Sacred Valley spread below.

“Anyways, I kind of made friends with a local guide and before I left he offered me that machete.” Keith went on, “He said it had been used by guides for years. It was a bit of a hassle getting it out of the country, but definitely worth it.”

“Definitely.” Lance agreed, looking back at the blade. He looked at it for a moment, and a wide grin suddenly filled his face. He looked over at Keith, “Hey. I bet I could juggle this.”

“No.” Keith said, and Lance’s expression fell. Keith resisted the urge to grin and pointed up. “Not inside, the ceiling’s too low.”

“Fuck, you’re right.” Lance said, looking up with a frown.

“There’s a side lawn I use when I want to practice throwing,” Keith said, beginning to get excited. He’d never seen anyone juggle knives in real life. Sliding off of his bed, he got down on his knees again and dragged out the board he used for practice. It was a three inch thick round cut from a fir log, fitted with a length of rope he could tie around the branch of one of the trees outside. He really shouldn't have been throwing knives around on the street, but the side lawn was on a lesser used one-way street and he had impeccable aim - if he said so himself.

“You can pick a few more knives,” Keith said, lifting the throwing board to the bed and standing up. “You can't call it juggling if it's just the machete. That's just… tossing.”

Lance laughed, stepping back over to the bed to look at the throwing knives. They took a few minutes to go over the blades, Lance asking Keith which ones were the best balance, Keith lifting each out to show him and explain the differences between them. Lance settled finally on the kunai, the divers knife, and one of the fancy aerodynamic knives that Keith had only really bought because it looked pretty.Then they headed outside eagerly, Keith carrying the log round and Lance carrying the knives.

Keith led the way to the side lawn, a large patch of grass with a tree at each end of it. There just happened to be a fire hydrant fight in the middle as well, which meant the entire length of the lawn was marked as No Parking. That was particularly helpful in the case of any stray knives that may miss the board, or go bouncing off to the side - no cars to nick or windshields to chip. It wasn't, granted, the safest place to go knife throwing as there were pedestrians out and about, but they lived in the middle of a large city and Keith wasn't going to travel to special ranges our drive an hour out to the sad patches of trees the city called a forest just for the sake of target practice.

“Okay,” Lance said once Keith had secured the board to one of the trees, tossing the kunai in one hand, easily catching it each time it spun back down. He'd handed the machete and divers knife to Keith to hold. “Let me get a feel for these first.”

He aimed at the board, and then pulled back and let fly in one smooth motion - Keith was impressed by his form, by the smooth way he moved with the blade. He would've been far more impressed if the kunai hadn't hit the board at entirely the wrong angle and bounced to land several feet away on the grass.

“That…” Lance cleared his throat, hands on his hips. “That didn't happen. You didn't see that.”

It was too late; laughter was already bubbling up out of Keith’s mouth. Lance scowled at him as he crossed the lawn to pick up the fallen kunai.

“It wasn't that funny,” He said, wiping the blade on his shirt to clean it.

“I know, it's just,” Keith grinned and waved his hand in Lance’s direction. “Your form was excellent, but the execution? Could use some work.”

“I'm a juggler not a thrower,” Lance grumbled, but he was beginning to grin as well. “Or whatever you people call yourselves. Now hand over the other knives.”

Keith handed over the diver’s knife and the aerodynamic knife, holding the machete still, and watched as Lance began tossing the knives into the air. They spun, first slowly, then faster and faster as he got a feel for them. Keith liked the way the light glinted off of the blades, liked the way Lance looked so comfortable handling them. He caught and released them like they were nothing more than batons, as if they didn’t have edges that could slice his hands or arms if he missed a catch.

“Okay,” Lance said, the blades still cutting through the air above him. “Machete please.”

“Don’t you need to do that tossing thing with it too?” Keith asked, giving Lance an uncertain look. “You know, to get the feel for it.”

“Nah, it’ll be fine.” Lance said with a cocky grin, looking over at Keith for a moment while the knives whirled in easy, lazy loops. “Come on man, hurry up.”

“If you injure yourself I’m not driving you to the hospital,” Keith said, holding the machete out handle first so Lance could grab it.

“Ah, but surely you’ll sit by my side as I wait for the ambulance?” Lance said with a smirk, smoothly grabbing the machete and tossing it into the air to join the other knives.

“Sure,” Keith snorted distractedly, watching as Lance worked with the four blades. There were several moments where Keith was certain that either Lance was going to drop the machete, or that it was going to plow blade first into some part of him - Lance had to lean low at some points to catch the handle just right, the cocky grin replaced by a look of total concentration. Keith’s adrenaline kept threatening to kick in, he had to force himself to keep from trying to reach out and push Lance out of the way of the blade each time it happened, his breath catching each time until Lance caught the handle again.

But then the blades were whirling freely, machete included, arcing through the air in varied sequences. Keith could only stand back and admire the ease with which Lance handled them, how quickly his hands moved to match them. He looked so happy, too, his face having relaxed into a grin again, though his eyes were always on the blades.

It was mesmerizing, in a way, the perfect union between man and knives, a dangerous and gorgeous dance. It was exhilarating, it was exciting, and just watching had Keith’s blood pumping fast and frenzied in his veins. He almost wanted to try it himself, impulsive need pumping through his body, but his rational mind just barely managed to reign him in. There was no way he’d be able to handle the knives like Lance did, so fluidly that they almost seemed to be part of the same being, like they weren’t a human with knives but like… like a planet with its moons whirling endlessly and effortlessly around it.

It was beautiful, evocative, transcendental - Keith could swear there was a dialogue there between them, something being spoken in the sound of blades cutting the air, of the light slap of the hilts meeting palms. Like they were in a pocket of their own, apart from the rest of the world for a moment…

Fuck, Keith couldn’t remember being so hung up on weirdly philosophical ideas before… before...

He couldn’t remember being a lot of things before he’d met Lance, actually. And somehow, that thought woke the emotions deep in his chest, bubbled them up until he had to breathe them out in a slow and controlled sigh as the warmth spread through his bones and to the tips of his fingers and toes and tingled along skin. He knew he probably had a stupid grin on his face, an _exposing_ grin if anyone looked at it properly, but... Lance wasn’t looking at him, his eyes laser focused on the knives he was juggling, and Keith felt safe enough to let that grin linger, to let himself indulge in the moment while it lasted.

  
  


-

  


It was Friday, Keith had just chugged his latte and raced home for some much-needed quality time with his bed after a week of absolute hell at work, and he was not in any way, shape, or form prepared to walk into the apartment to find Lance standing right there in front of him wearing nothing but a pair of galaxy print boxers, toweling dry his hair. He stopped short just inside the door, eyes widening at the sight. It suddenly struck him how strange it was, that Lance had been living in his apartment for weeks now and this was the first time he’d seen him dressed in anything less than a tee and pants.

“Hey! You’re back!” Lance said as he noticed him, pulling the towel away and grinning happily. Keith eyed him warily, grip tightening on the strap of his bag as he slowly closed the door behind himself; Lance had _that look_ in his eyes, that bubbly sparkly look he got only when he had some sort of plan in mind, and while it was an improvement on the snark that had peppered and salted the whole week, Keith wasn’t sure he had the energy to deal with it that day.

“Where are your clothes?” Keith asked, deciding that would be a safer question than _why are you looking that unnecessarily energetic?_ It took a bit of effort to keep his eyes from wandering across Lance’s exposed skin, and they did just that before he was able to reign them in. Lance looked so much more real in, well, real life, and so much more natural. Light glistened off several drops of water that had escaped the towel, drawing Keith’s eye down along the line of his neck and the smooth bulge of his pecs to the soft curves of his abs. The scars looked much more real too, pale filigree crossing his skin, some lines flat and nearly unseen, others raised ever so slightly and much more visible. There were several fresher cuts as well, curved red almost-scabs along his sides that reminded Keith of shark gills. For a half second he actually had the gall to be - what, annoyed? - annoyed that Lance had cut and he hadn’t gotten to see it. But that was only half a second, and he shoved that thought far aside. Lance didn’t owe him anything. Tearing his eyes away from the cuts, he forced them back to Lance’s face. This was not the time for ogling, or remembering about how it looked on the cam show, remembering how the cuts glistened and how the blood trickled nice and slow and… and Keith had thought he’d been fine, the past few weeks without the show. He was almost horrified to discover that, at that moment, he really, _really,_ wasn’t.

“I finally met your cats!” Lance said cheerfully, bringing Keith’s thoughts back to reality, only to plunge him into a well of confusion. At the very least the other man hadn’t seemed to have noticed that Keith had been staring at him for a needlessly long time.

“W...what.” Keith was dead certain they didn’t have cats. A cat. Any animal. There were no animals in the apartment, unless Pidge had a secret cat colony living in her closet.

“Your cats man, the alley cats!” Lance moved further into the apartment, tossing the towel onto one of the bar stools. “It took weeks but they finally came around. Took a whole lot of Friskies too but it was worth it.”

“Oh, those cats.” Keith’s brow furrowed. He followed Lance further inside so he could drop his bag by the couch. “So that's why you keep stealing everyone's sale papers.”

“It's only stealing if you don't return them,” Lance said, pulling on a pair of dark denim jeans that had been laying over the back of the couch. “Besides, there's only like three apartments in the east wing that have cats, everyone else just throws those coupons away.”

Keith had no idea how Lance had found that out, and honestly he didn’t want to know. The less he knew the better. Lance turned back to him again, smiling as he chattered on,  “There’s five tabbies that look identical, they _have_ to be siblings. And there’s this black cat with one single white spot right under his chin, and this aloof gray guy that just hung back under one of the cars. Oh, and there was a calico!”

He was so excited that it was difficult for Keith to keep from being infected by it. Despite the weight of a full week of ridiculous stresses, he found himself relaxing as he listened to Lance ramble about the cats, sitting on the couch armrest while Lance talked animatedly. It was nice to be talking and not having to worry whether or not the next thing he said would start off an argument.

“A big, I mean really big cat came up to me today, they were brownish with those white tuxedo markings?” Lance said, holding his hands a good two feet apart. “Maybe they were an indoor-outdoor cat because they looked real nice, and they didn’t smell. And then this really old crotchety cat showed up out of nowhere, right? I think it’s a white cat, but it was _so dirty_ like, caked on mud and crap dirty. I’m sitting there playing with the big brown cat and this granny cat just wobbles up over to me, climbs into my lap - took them three tries - and just rolls up and starts purring up a storm.”

Lance grinned wistfully, sighing, “Aaaaand then granny cat peed on me. They didn’t want to get off of me after, they kept rubbing up on my shirt and I didn’t have the heart to just shove them off because they were so skinny and old?” Lance sighed. “So I sat there for like an hour while this cat napped on my lap, waiting for it to wake the fuck up. Then I ran upstairs to take a shower.”

“Wow.” Keith raised his eyebrows. “I… I don’t really know what to say to that. Thanks, uh, for taking a shower and not stinking the apartment up with cat piss?”

“You’re welcome,” Lance said, chuckling. Keith pushed himself back onto his feet and unzipped his hoodie as Lance pulled on a shirt. As entertaining as Lance’s cat antics were, he was absolutely drained. If he wanted to nap he needed to take the chance to escape now before Lance really got started with the chatter.

“Thanks for the news highlights,” He said, taking several steps towards his room, “But I’m beat, I’m gonna-”

“No!”

Keith froze, hand still on his hoodie zipper. Slowly he turned to look back at Lance.

“What?” He asked slowly.

“Leave your hoodie on,” Lance said sternly, then pointed at Keith’s feet. “And don’t take your shoes off.”

“Why...not?”

“Do you know what today is?” Lance asked, and though his tone remained stern his eyes were doing that sparkly thing again. Keith frowned as he thought.

“Uh, a Thursday?” He offered, and Lance shook his head. “It’s… August. No, it’s September…” Lance nodded encouragingly at that, beginning to grin “September… first…?”

“Yes!” Lance beamed. Keith stared at him blankly, and after a moment Lance’s smile faltered. “It’s… it’s September first. Dude. _September first._ ”

“Yeah, I kind of got that part…” Keith said, still frowning in confusion. “Why are you so excited?”

Lance looked like he was going to have an aneurysm.

“Keith,” He said, breathing in deeply. “Today - the day that we are in, right now - is September. First. The first of September.”

Keith continued to stare at him blankly.

“It’s Pumpkin Spice Latte Day you dummy!” Lance exclaimed, throwing his hands out. “Now come on, we must celebrate by buying the biggest PSL’s available.”

“Oh.” Keith blinked slowly. An already bubbly Lance, plus caffeine and ungodly amounts of sugar? “No.”

“Yes,” Lance insisted, pulling on a deep blue, form fitting hoodie. He turned to give Keith a stern, commanding look.

“Why?” Keith groaned, ignoring it and tipping his head back, closing his eyes. He rubbed his forehead, already feeling the tension headache starting. “Why can't you just go by yourself?”

“I am NOT celebrating Pumpkin Spice Latte Day all by myself. That’s just sad.” Lance pocketed his wallet and phone as Keith grumbled, “It's not even a real holiday” under his breath.

“You take that back, blasphemer,” Lance snapped, frowning at him. He actually looked _mad_. “Now come on.”

“You couldn't find anyone else to go with you?” Keith stubbornly refused to move, crossing his arms and giving Lance a withering look. It had zero effect on the other man - he reached out and grabbed Keith's arm, tugging on it.

“Pidge doesn't drink coffee.” He said as he forcefully dragged Keith towards the door, step by excruciating step. Lance was _actually_ moving him - impressive.

“No, she chugs a gallon’s worth of Venom every morning though.” Keith enjoyed the effort Lance was putting in to dragging him to the door, he was adorable when he pouted.

Fuck, Keith sighed, realizing what he’d just thought. Fuck.

He relented finally, if only to keep Lance from making that face, and pulled his arm out of Lance’s grasp, “Fine, I'll go.”

“Yes!” Lance fist pumped as Keith headed for the door, beaming. Great, that smile wasn’t much better. Keith glowered at nothing and headed out the door, and Lance followed happily at his heels down the hallway and the stairs. It was that odd sort of mixed weather outside, cool enough for hoodies but too warm for jackets. The sun was out, glaringly bright but welcome as the slight wind that kicked leaves around the sidewalk was chilly.

“So, while we're talking,” Lance said suddenly into the somewhat amiable silence that had fallen between them.

“We weren't, actually,” Keith said, sad to see that peaceful quiet go, but Lance ignored him cheerfully.

“Is this all you own?” Lance asked, motioning at all of Keith.

“Is _what_ all I own?” Keith asked, cocking an eyebrow at Lance.

“ _This._ ” Lance motioned at him again. “Ambiguously colored dark graphic tees, black pants, flannel - are they flannel or are they just plaid? - shirts. This whole...lazy grunge thing.”

“I have hoodies too.” Keith responded, poking pointedly at his dark gray hoodie. Lance made a slightly discontent noise, eyeing him critically before looking away with a sigh.

“Well I guess you make it work…” He said, forehead scrunching as if this was something he actually had to think hard about. Maybe it pained him to say it. Keith shrugged noncommittally, trying to ignore the fact that Lance had just complimented his appearance in some weird roundabout way. But then Lance was glancing back at him, that quizzically critical look still on his face.

“Wait, wait, is that a UFO on your shirt?” Lance asked, actually stopping to turn and face him. Keith stopped as well.

“Uh, yeah?” He held his hoodie open a bit more. The tee was horribly faded, the bright sky nearly charcoal gray from the underlying black fabric. Only the UFO was really visible, and maybe the line of trees. The words “I Want To Believe” were cracked and almost unreadable. He’d had it for years. “It's from The X-Files.”

Lance fixed him with an incredulous look.

“I take it back.” He said quietly after a moment, voice whispy. “I take back what I said.”

“You take back your backhanded compliment?” Keith asked.

“Take it right back,” Lance swiped his hand through the air and fisted it in front of Keith, as if grabbing something in the air, then pulled it back to him. Without a word he turned and headed down the street again.

“Wow.” Keith said, unphased by Lance’s dramatics. He followed after a beat, easily catching up to the other man within a few steps. “Are you serious?”

“You ask me that a lot, you know.” Lance said without looking at him.

“That's because I'm constantly confused by the level of _ridiculous_ that is _you_ .” Keith said. He was slightly amazed by it too, by just how easily Lance slipped from moment to moment, how boundless his enthusiasm was, how energetic his emotions, how absolutely _alive_ he was. It was exhausting just being around him, he couldn’t imagine actually living like that.

“My existence is a wonderful boon to all who meet me.” Lance replied haughtily, shooting Keith an annoyed look.

“Right.”

“I make everyone’s life better just by being in it.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Keith knew he was beginning to sound like an ass, and he should really stop because other than dragging him out of the house, Lance wasn’t actually doing anything to deserve it.

“I am a shining beacon of love and good times and even better looks, Keith! Don’t deny it!” Lance stopped and spread his arms out. “Look at me!”

Well, Lance was right about the ‘looks’ part, as far as Keith was concerned. He’d never admit it, and instead of focusing on how good Lance looked that day - the form-fitting hoodie emphasizing the long line of his body from torso to foot, accentuating his shoulders _just right_ , the blue of it deepening the blue of his eyes, all brought together by his cocky grin and his self-sure posture - he looked ahead, tucking his hands into his pockets as he muttered, “Whatever.”

“And _you_ ,” Lance went on, undeterred and with a hint of sharpness in his tone. “You’re still walking around with a _mullet_.”

Keith couldn’t tell if that disgusted tone was real or faked, but it didn’t really matter. The thought that Lance didn’t like something as insignificant as his hair should’ve have hurt as much as it did - and discovering _that it did_ made absolutely no sense. He couldn’t give a crap about it, he told himself, but he still found himself snapping back weakly,

“At least I look good with longer hair.”

Lance gasped, hand jerking up to his head. His hair hadn’t exactly been short when he’d come to live with them, and in the month it had grown even longer, curling at the nape of his neck and nearly brushing his eyebrows. Even so, it wasn’t exactly _long_ and Keith’s half-hearted attempt at snark shouldn’t have elicited such a nasty look as Lance gave him. Narrowing his eyes, he dropped his hand and turned sharply away from Keith, starting off for the coffee shop again.

Keith followed, kicking himself mentally as they fell into an uneasy silence. He’d just been thinking about how difficult Lance was being lately, and here he was fucking things up himself. What a fucking mess.

“So,” He started in an attempt to salvage whatever fragments of the better part of the day remained. “How were the apartments you went to see?”

“They were all right,” Lance responded vaguely, “Pretty okay, I guess. But there’s other people after them too, so who knows…”

They were reaching the coffee shop, passing people walking by with cups and pastry bags. Lance took the lead as they neared, Keith following close behind.

“I’m sure you’ll find something soon enough,” Keith said as Lance opened the door. He followed the other man inside, trying not to frown at the thought. Lance would be gone soon, and somehow despite it being such a short time - what was a month? - the thought was heavy and odd, that Lance would no longer be a daily constant in his life. God, he hated this weird and sappy side of himself.

“Do you ever like, stop and think about how a month ago we didn’t even know each other?” Lance asked, somehow managing to both be off-topic from what they had been discussing while also strangely on topic with Keith’s own thoughts.

“Technically, we still don’t know each other, not really.” Keith snorted, trying to keep from feeling like he’d been caught out. Lance was not a mind reader, but somehow the thought that he might have been thinking something similar to Keith’s own thoughts was even worse.

“That’s…” Lance huffed irritably, slouching and looking somewhat dejected. “That’s not what I meant.”

Fuck. Defuse the situation, Keith, don’t make it worse.

“I know what you meant,” Keith said, trying to sound cheerful, or at least _nice_. “We’re not strangers anymore.”

“Exactly!” That earned him a bright eyed smile from Lance, the other man’s posture straightening. He looked at Keith for a long moment, looking for all the world like he was going to follow that up with another thought. But then he seemed to catch himself before speaking, closing off as the light in his eyes darkened. He nodded towards the counter, “Come on, let’s get our seasonal cheer on.”

Keith grinned back, happy to find that the atmosphere had lightened between them again. There were several people waiting at the counter already, and they got into line behind them. The baristas were bustling behind the counter, one making drinks while another heated pastries, and two more tended the registers.

“Hi Lance, Hi Keith!” A pleasant voice called out as they neared the pastry counter.

“Hey Jill!” Lance called back cheerfully to the dark-skinned girl pulling croissants out of the display case. “How’s your day going?”

“Fan~tastic.” Jill said with a snort, and they both laughed. She flashed Keith a quick smile as she headed back towards the microwaves with pastries in hand, and he grinned back. She was one of the regular workers, someone they’d see all the time, along with Jorge and Lou. Keith would exchange greetings with them, but Lance was somehow able to get full fledged conversations going even over the shortest transactions.

Maybe one day Keith would learn to pull that off, segueing greetings smoothly into actual small talk, discussing something more than just the weather.

“Oh, I’m sorry!”

Keith glanced towards the voice to see the woman in line in front of Lance giving the brunette an apologetic grin, taking a step back in a way that made it obvious she’d just bumped into him. Lance, never one to miss a chance, was looking back with a grin - no, _the grin_ , and Keith was rolling his eyes before the other man even opened his mouth to speak.

“Oh, don’t be, it’s an honor.” Lance replied, voice sweet and low. The woman looked back at him with a slightly puzzled look, and he continued, “Not everyone is lucky enough to be touched by an angel.”

The woman blushed and smiled, Lance looked mighty pleased with himself, and Keith could feel the remains of his kind-of-sort-of okay mood go right down the drain. He glared at the pastry case, narrowing his eyes at the pumpkin bread slice - he was hungry and it looked absolutely _delicious_ \- with such intense focus he didn’t notice the line had moved and Lance was talking to him.

“Earth to Keith, hello?” Lance said, shaking his shoulder.

“Yeah, what?” Keith asked, disgruntled. The poisonous heat of something that some people might call jealousy was pooling in his gut and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

“What size do you want?” Lance asked, and when Keith glanced at him he noticed Lance giving him an odd look.

“What size has enough caffeine to kill me?” Keith responded tonelessly, watching Lance’s eyebrows raise as an uneasy grin came onto his face.

“Ha, good one,” Lance replied, patting Keith’s shoulder as Lou snickered behind the register. “Let’s just get two venti’s.”

Lou put their order in, and Keith pulled out his wallet and handed Lance a five dollar bill.

“What are you doing.” Lance didn’t even bother to phrase it as a question, just as he didn’t even bother to take Keith’s fiver. Keith shoved him aside and put the money on the counter, and Lance yelped. “No, I’m paying!”

“It’s all right, I can pay for mine.” Keith said, frowning at the other man as he made to slide the bill further onto the counter. Lance slapped his hand on Keith’s - almost hard enough to sting - and shoved both it and the fiver back.

“No, I’m paying.” He said sternly, handing a handful of bills to Lou with his other hand.

“Lance, I said I could pay,” Keith glared at him, pulling his hand out from under Lance’s and holding the five dollar bill out. “Lou, take my money.”

“Don’t take his money!” Lance shoved Keith, nearly knocking him off balance and into the edge of the pastry case, and shoved his own money almost in Lou’s face. “Take mine!”

“What the hell!” Keith glared at the side of Lance’s head. He’d glare _at_ him but Lance had fixed Lou with a stern look and was waving his money in front of the guy’s nose.

“Okay, so I’m going to take this,” Lou said carefully, taking Lance’s money and shooting Keith an apologetic look. They looked amused, which did nothing to temper Keith’s growing irritation. It wasn't Lou’s fault, however, so he kept his glaring to a minimum

“Ha!” Lance grinned, shooting Keith a triumphant cocky look.

“You’re such a fucking weirdo,” Keith grumbled, shoving the fiver back in his wallet and shoving his wallet back in his pocket, all with far more force than necessary. He stepped around Lance to head for the pick up counter, hands in his pockets. He shouldn’t have let Lance drag him out, he was in no mood for all of this. The week had been sapping him slowly but surely of all of his energy, and all he felt was bone-tired and snappy. Getting out of the house was a mistake when he felt like that, and nothing about their walk over, and certainly not the _seasonal cheer_ of a pumpkin spice latte, was worth it. He felt like shit.

“Ugh, what's your problem?” Lance huffed when he stepped up next to him a moment later, barging in on his thoughts as usual.

“Nothing's my problem.” Keith grumbled, focusing his gaze on things that were not Lance.

“Are _you_ serious now?” Lance threw his own words back at him. Keith could just see his face in his peripheral vision; eyebrows furrowed, Lance was looking at him with an expression approaching a scowl. Deciding that the only way to keep the scene from dissolving into another one of their recent arguments, Keith kept his mouth clamped shut and his gaze averted.

Lance, apparently not getting the fucking memo, sighed irritably and grumbled on, “Oh I see… well, excuse me for wanting to get you outside to enjoy a change of scenery after you've been cooped up in your stupid office the whole fucking day.”

“If I wanted to get out I'd do it myself.” Keith replied, staring hard at the menu board to avoid looking at Lance.

“What you want is to go vegetate in your room and ignore everyone for six fucking hours every fucking day,” Lance snapped, impatient and...angry? “News flash, you're not any easier to deal with afterwards!

“I'm not any easier to deal with afterwards.” Keith repeated coldly, finally turning to Lance with a glare. The other man’s scowl faltered; he sighed heavily, closing his eyes,

“That's… That's not...okay, listen-”

The soft sound of cups being placed on the pick up counter managed to break through the tense atmosphere surrounding them. Keith glanced over to find Jill placing their order on the counter carefully, looking just slightly uneasy as she flashed him a smile.

“Two venti pumpkin spice lattes,” She said hastily, obviously uncomfortable with interrupting them.

“Thanks,” Keith managed to sound somewhat not-pissed as he reached out to grab a cup, ignoring Lance as he grabbed his own. Jill nodded in response and hurried off, not looking back.

“I just…” Lance began, exasperated, as he walked over to the coffee station. Keith hung back a moment, debating whether he should just leave, but ultimately ended up following, if only to hear the rest of the sentence. Lance frowned at the selection of sweeteners, popping the cap off of his cup carefully. “I thought… you've just been cooping yourself up in your fucking room every day, and I… I just wanted to...”

Lance didn't seem to know what to say it, seemed, but Keith wasn't as dense as he might look sometimes. It didn't take a genius to figure out what Lance was trying to get at; he'd wanted to get Keith out of the house because he'd wanted to _help_ . The implication was _right there_. Help with what, however, Keith couldn't figure out - he didn't feel like he needed it, any of it - going outside or getting coffee or...or the company. So maybe they used to go out for coffee more often after Lance had first come to live with them, so maybe they spent more time talking back then. Just because Keith didn't have the energy for it lately didn't mean he needed to have Lance nearly physically drag him out the door and force him into socializing.

Still, this wasn't Lance being inconsiderate, or Lance being an irritating ass, or Lance imposing what he wanted on Keith - it was Lance trying to be nice because, for some weird reason, he seemed to give a crap about Keith.

Keith sipped at his latte, trying to focus on the sweetness and spices and not on the dejected way Lance was pulling out the brown sugar packets from their holder. It was no use; all he could see was the weary frown on Lance’s face and all he could think of was that maybe, just maybe, it hadn't been _Lance_ that was being an irritable jerk lately.

“I'm gonna wait outside.” He said shortly, turning to leave. He couldn’t look at Lance anymore, and he couldn’t stand the atmosphere anymore, and all he wanted was to breathe. Just breathe.

“Geez can't you wait five fucking seconds-” Lance snapped after him, but he was already headed for the door, ignoring the odd looks thrown his way. He was the reason for that irritated tone, for the long-suffering sigh that followed, it was all him...

Maybe it was a good thing Lance would be moving out soon, Keith thought. He’d be gone, no longer around to trip him up by merely existing, no longer forced to endure Keith's fucking ridiculous moodiness and bad vibes. Maybe it would better if they just went back to being strangers afterwards. Maybe…

Keith sighed, looking up into the sunlit sky as the latte warmed his fingers, and wondered if anything in life ever lasted.

 

-

 

Sometimes Keith found himself thinking about how Lance had found a way that worked for him. In life, sort of. At least, he’d found a way to be himself, to work with whatever he’d been given by his experiences to form some sort of identity. He found himself thinking of the fond way Lance spoke of his family and siblings, of how he acted with Hunk, of how he fell into conversation with total strangers so easily. Of how easily he trusted, even after what he’d been through. Of how easily he grew to care about others.

Sometimes, Keith tried to count the number of people he still had contact with, after all these years. He tried to think of people he still spoke to, still kept in touch with even in the smallest of ways - birthday or holiday greetings, messages on Facebook, anything. The number he came up with was depressingly disappointing, no matter how many times he recounted, as was the thought that he might have more if he only knew how to continue after that first awkward conversation, if only he knew how to let people in. His passer-by relationships at work, the fleeting and weak friendships outside of it, the weak bonds he’d developed with all his foster siblings over the years, his several attempts at something like romantic relationships - each falling flat after several months - only emphasized that hollow chasm inside of him.

He was fine, he’d tell himself as he rolled onto his other side, curling under the blankets and covers and willing the warmth to comfort him as it used to. He didn’t need any more than what he had, he didn’t need any more than what he’d been given. He was fine.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, here we go. Hope you enjoy?  
> I know it's been a while since we've had a bloodplay scene but I can tell you one is coming up soon~  
> For now, enjoy the emotions. 
> 
> Thank you all again for all your comments and kudos and even just stopping by an reading! I really appreciate it all!
> 
> Someone on tumblr asked if I had a playlist for BloodCam - and I don't. I've never made a playlist for a fic before - BUT I wanted to ask if you have songs you thought might fit then please let me know! We can make a playlist together!
> 
> And if you'd like, you can find me at the following places:  
> Tumblr: [JustBloodCamThings](http://justbloodcamthings.tumblr.com) Updates tagged as BloodCam fic (with space)  
> Twitter: [itsdetachable](http://twitter.com/itsdetachable) BloodCam updates will be tagged #bloodcamfic
> 
> P.S: Silly doodle for the fic: [clicky clicky](http://itsdetachable.tumblr.com/post/152227094588/i-put-tinted-lenses-in-so-you-wouldnt-be)

“I got a job!” Lance exclaimed happily as soon as Keith walked in the door, eyes bright as he threw his arms out in excitement.  

Keith could only stare at him, and it took a moment for him to realize that shocked disbelief was probably not the appropriate emotion to display in response to Lance’s announcement. Lance had, as always it seemed, chosen the moment Keith had just gotten back from work - when his head was still whirling from all the phonecalls and his body felt like one big weary ache - to spring a conversation on him. Granted, it was no doubt because the period of time between Keith entering the apartment and holing up in his room was becoming shorter with each passing day, but still… Keith would’ve appreciated another moment, or twenty, so that he could get his brain back to working well enough to process things properly. 

Lance was still looking at him expectantly, and Keith struggled to look less  _ shocked _ and more… surprised? As in, a not-negative surprised. Maybe a pleasant surprised. Maybe he could grin - but by the time he thought of that so much time had passed that it would probably look awkward. Lance’s smile had soured slightly as he waited, his posture losing some of of that carefree energy he'd had only a moment before. Keith took a breath; he should say something nice at least, something encouraging.

“What?” He said instead, because sometimes his mouth and his mind didn’t quite catch the same train of thought. He fumbled with words for a moment, then blurted out, “I mean, that’s great.”

Lance was continuing to give him that skeptical look, still grinning but looking like he wasn’t quite sure if Keith’s response was genuine. His arms had dropped back to his sides and he’d taken a half step back, but when he spoke it was with his usual swagger.

“Yeah, they took one look at me and couldn't say no,” Lance said cockily, crossing his arms and grinning like he was the cat that got the cream.

“Because of your kicked puppy look?” Keith asked dryly, unable to keep from teasing when given the opportunity.

“ Uh no? Because of my gorgeous face,” Lance retorted, shooting Keith a dirty look. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Keith repeated, rolling his eyes. To be completely honest, he was happy for Lance. The guy had been living off of his savings for the past few weeks, without even the cam shows to help out. Neither Keith nor Pidge had asked him to pitch in on the rent, but Keith was pretty certain that all the ingredients Lance used for his meals he bought himself, and he was definitely feeding the alley strays from his own pocket. If Lance had a job he could make up the losses, and it would certainly help with his apartment situation.

“Where will you be working?” Keith asked, leaning against the wall and wishing he was in bed instead. Social interaction and small talk was the least he could do for Lance after the mess that was the coffee trip the few days earlier, though, so he stayed put and attempted to be mentally present.

“At the Pets Plus on Six Corners,” Lance answered happily, gripping his hands behind his back in a way that could be called shy, if Lance was actually capable of it. He was so excited he was beaming, and Keith couldn’t help but grin along with him. “I’ll be working the register mostly and maybe the floor, which is fine because I don’t actually know anything about taking care of pets. The place is really clean, too, and the animals look okay, and I’ve done retail before so I know I can handle it? I mean, I know it’s only part time and it’s not like a real job or whatever…”

“Why not?” Keith interjected. “It’s a job. You get paid for it.”

“That’s.. That’s not what I meant, I mean…” Lance waved his hands vaguely, frowning as he tried to find words to explain.

“I know what you mean,” Keith said irritably, “It’s not sitting in an office nine to five so it doesn’t count or whatever. Which is bullshit. It’s still a job and you’ll probably be putting more effort into it then I put into mine.”

Lance looked somewhat surprised by Keith’s words. But then he was grinning again, eyes bright as he looked at Keith with obvious appreciation. Keith wondered if Lance ever got tired of his rapid-fire changing expressions. It was endearing, however, the way he emoted so loudly - not  _ vocally _ but  _ visually _ \- allowing himself to be read, to express himself and what he felt. Hair-pulling frustrating at times, but endearing. Adorable. Keith didn’t mind it as much as he pretended to, actually enjoyed it if he was being honest with himself. 

He didn’t want to be honest with himself right then, however, and his mental sidetrack wasn’t appreciated. He sighed, pushing off of the wall and running fingers through his hair wearily. 

“Well, congrats,” He said, rubbing his neck in a sorry attempt to alleviate the achiness of it. “I’m sure you’ll like it, you like animals. Besides, it should help with the apartment search.”

“Uh, yeah,” Lance’s grin faded a bit as Keith watched, an odd look coming to his eyes. “Yeah, definitely. Everyone’s always asking for, you know, place of employment and shit like that…”

“Should make it easier for you, you should be able to find something in no time now,” Keith said, managing a half-assed grin. Something wasn’t right, though. Lance smiled back, but it was a shade shy of genuine, and something was off about his body language. He was… stiff all of a sudden. Distant.

“I guess so.” Lance shrugged, but his energy had disappeared, leaving the air between them heavy and awkward. Keith didn’t know what had happened, why Lance was suddenly so aloof. Did he say something wrong? Again? Fuck, he didn’t even know. And Lance just sort of shrugged once more, and said without meeting Keith’s eye, “Well, I’ve got some things I wanted to check on so…”

Keith barely managed to acknowledge Lance’s words before the other man was walking away, heading for the couch. Keith watched him go, irritated and tired and so far away from understanding what had just happened. They were talking, and everything had been going going fine, hadn’t it? What the fuck happened this time…

Letting out an irritated breath, he stalked to his room and closed the door behind him, fighting the frustration roiling within him. He'd been trying, ever since the coffee mess, to be better. To actually talk with Lance when he wanted to talk, to keep from making snide comments when he was feeling snappy. He thought he'd been doing all right, so what the fuck was wrong now? 

Groaning, he climbed into bed - clothes and all. The blinds were down, they’d been down for fuck knows how long now, and the darkness of the room was comforting. Burying himself under his blankets, he closed his eyes and fought to get his mind off of the whirling emotions inside of him.

  
.  
  


Keith didn’t come out until well past seven, drawn out of his room by the hunger clawing at his stomach. He wasn't really hungry, not in a way where he  _ felt _ it, but his body was demanding food and he knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep unless he ate something.

The TV was on when he stepped out of his door, and Pidge and Lance were sitting on the couch and laughing over something on Lance’s laptop. He scratched at his head and wandered closer, peeking over their shoulders.

“Oh look who's decided to join the land of the living,” Pidge laughed on catching sight of him. She gave him a grin, though, to take the edge off her words.

“Hey to you too,” Keith grumbled, rubbing at one eye. “What're you two doing?”

“Nothing,” Lance responded in an oddly cheerful tone. He hadn’t looked up at Keith as he neared, or maybe Keith had just missed it. “Just checking out some apartment listings, some good ones have come up lately.”

“This one has a balcony big enough for an actual grill and seats,” Pidge said, pointing at the screen. Keith could just barely make out the picture, a view from a couple stories up looking over a line of assorted houses and storefronts.

“Burgers and beers on the balcony, AND it’s only a block away from the baseball park,” Lance grinned, scrolling through the pictures.

”Do you even like baseball?” Keith asked, not able to recall if he'd ever seen Lance watch any sports. No, wait, they'd watched a couple soccer games together but Keith barely remembered them because it had been late at night and he'd fallen asleep during both of them.

“Nope,” Lance said matter-of-factly, “But I like people and I like parties and with that many pubs and bars in the area?”

“It’s perfect.” Pidge snorted in amusement.

Keith frowned as he mulled that over. The ballpark was literally on the other side of the city. Lance couldn't have been considering moving all the way out there, could he? That would be far from his new job, Keith thought. That would be far from…

Frowning, he dragged himself away from the couch before his mind wandered into dangerous territory, letting his friend’s chatter fade to white noise as he headed for the kitchen. Pausing just inside the space, he gripped his hands in his hair tight enough to hurt and glanced around the kitchen. He needed to eat, he couldn't think straight on an empty stomach (he couldn't think straight  _ at all _ lately but he was ignoring that fact). His eyes caught sight of a skillet on the stove, and he moved towards it curiously. A tantalizing smell reached him once he was near, and stomach growling Keith lifted the lid off to see what was inside. The sight of chicken parmigiana made his heart stutter, and for a long moment he was unable to move, eyes focused on the skillet. He loved this chicken parmigiana. He'd loved it the first time Lance had made it and every time after, and seeing it right then did something to him, twisted something in him. He wasn't an idiot, he knew why Lance had made it, just like he knew why Lance kept trying to talk to him, kept trying to drag him out of the house.

Lance so obviously and desperately wanted to be friends. Despite all the past weeks of Keith’s unnecessary moodiness and snark, despite how difficult it was lately to even talk with each other, Lance was still trying. He wasn’t giving up.

And something ripped inside Keith, something painful and deep. He placed the lid back on the skillet slowly and stood there, feeling indistinct and formless, like smoke in the air. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t be around Lance while constantly fighting back the emotions that welled up within him. Maybe they could’ve been friends, once, but Keith was too far gone by now. He wasn’t sure he'd ever be able to handle just being friends, wasn’t sure if he could ever handle that ache of being close and not close enough. No, he'd never be able to give Lance the friendship he wanted, not when his mind was always racing with thoughts of what could be - and he couldn't handle a relationship like  _ that _ again. He couldn't handle even the thought of it.

_ I don't want this, _ he whispered to himself, trying desperately to make those words real, to make himself believe them. He didn't want Lance to care, he didn't want Lance to keep trying - but that was a fucking lie. A very large, selfish part of him wanted it all - wanted someone to care enough about him to make his favorite dish for dinner, wanted someone to care enough to drag him out of the house when he fell into a rut, to talk him out of his silence, to keep him real and grounded, to keep him from isolating himself.

Taking a steadying breath he lidded the skillet again and stepped away from the stove purposely, turned his thoughts to the safer topic of food. There had to be something edible in the fridge, and he opened it and peered inside hopefully. It was decently stocked, but almost everything was just… ingredients. Or leftovers. Keith looked over at the stove again, the skillet sitting there, quietly taunting him. Frowning and biting his lip, he finally reached into the fridge and pulled out the bowl with the remaining guacamole that Lance had made the day before. Shoving the fridge door closed, he pulled a bag of chips out of a cabinet and uncovered the bowl, then headed back towards the couch.

“Who puts a Jacuzzi tub in a studio apartment?” Pidge was saying as he neared, scratching at her head.

“Who  _ doesn't? _ ” Lance responded, sounding offended.

“It's just not practical,” Pidge said, gesturing with her hands, “And it isn't even a bigger studio. There’s no room in there for a jacuzzi.”

“Who needs more room when you have twelve adjustable jets, Pidge?”

Keith skirted the couch and sat down on the unclaimed armchair instead. He sat sideways, legs curled up beside him, and balanced the bowl of guacamole on his knees. He opened the bag of chips as he watched Lance and Pidge; he'd never thought they'd hit it off quite as well as they had, but in hindsight he shouldn't have been surprised. They joked around and pranked each other all the time, and they'd only argued a grand total of three times since Lance had come to live with them. 

Nothing like Keith and Lance. It felt like every interaction they had lately had an underlying current of defensive reactivity to it, threatening to blow up in their faces at the first available opportunity. Keith wished it was different, wished he knew how to fix it all, go back to the way they were those first few week...

He hadn't even started eating but he already knew the guac and chips weren't going to satisfy him. He ate anyways, because the physical hunger was something he could take care of, at least.

Lance glanced over at him as he began eating and frowned, eyes narrowing. That frown only deepened as Keith scraped the bottom of the bowl with a chip.

“Oh hell no,” Lance said heatedly, “Don't tell me you're already finishing that.”

Keith paused in raising the chip to his mouth. eyeing Lance uncertainly. Was he actually angry? What else was Keith supposed to do, let it sit until it got brown and watery and disgusting? 

“Yeah?” Keith said, raising an eyebrow. “It was a small bowl.”

Something flickered across Lance’s face, his frown quivering and his eyebrows lowering dangerously. Beside him PIdge fidgeted, her eyes bouncing between the two of them as if she were watching a tennis match.

“Well sorry for not making more,” Lance said icily after a moment. If looks could kill, Keith might’ve been dead, or at least heavily wounded. 

All over a bowl of guac.

“I wasn’t complaining,” Keith said around a mouthful of chips and guac, ticked off by Lance’s tone. “Besides, I never asked you to make any of it, you just did it on your own.”

Lance didn’t have a response to that - but he stiffened in his seat, fingers clenching around the edges of the base of his laptop as his narrowed  _ even more _ . 

“Well,” Pidge said, hopping to her feet and stretching her arms over her head. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my room.”

She was hurrying off almost before she finished speaking, leaving them with nothing but the awkwardly-energized silence between them.

“Look what you did,” Lance snapped as soon as her door closed, and Keith gave him a shocked look.

“What  _ I _ did?” He asked.

“Whatever.” Lance huffed, turning back to his laptop screen. He tapped the fingers of his left hand along the base, his entire form radiating barely-contained anger. Keith watched him for a moment, wondering if it was possible to read his mind if he just  _ stared _ at him long enough - because that was the only way he was going to understand what the fuck was going on.

“God,” He said finally, exasperated and  _ so done _ . “What is wrong with you?”

“With  _ me? _ ” Lance said, head snapping back around so he could shoot Keith a dirty look. “What’s wrong with  _ me _ ? You’re asking me that?”

He shouldn’t answer, he  _ knew _ he shouldn’t answer, that he should just drop it, just walk away and let the argument peter out before it got started - but the irritation was roiling within him, tinted dark by the bitterness of his own feelings and rubbing his already frayed nerves even more raw. He should’ve dropped it - but instead Keith found himself snapping back without thinking (as always, as always,  _ as always) _ .

“You’re so bitchy lately!” 

“ _ I’m _ bitchy?” Lance’s voice rose slightly, his hands clenching into fists. “Funny -  _ that’s funny _ , how would you even know that?” - and then his voice wasn’t just louder but  _ loud _ \- “You don’t even talk to me anymore!”

“What the fu-” Keith bristled, Lance’s anger, his  _ hurt _ rubbing him all the wrong ways, putting him on a knife’s edge. He gripped the chip bag tightly in one hand, the plastic crinkling loudly; he wasn’t hungry anymore. He wasn’t anything but tired and hurt and exhausted and so completely fucking done with everything. He stood up, bowl and bag clutched in his hands, refusing to look at Lance as he made his way back around the couch.

“The only thing you talk to me about anymore is finding an apartment,” Lance shoved the laptop onto the couch and twisted around to look at Keith over the backrest.

“Well that was kind of the point of everything wasn’t it?” Keith snapped back, pausing to shoot Lance a look. The other man looked furious, maybe something else too considering how dark his eyes had gotten. Keith continued on callously, the words spilling past his lips, “You stay here until you find a decent apartment to move into so you don’t end up in some shithole somewhere.”

Something changed in Lance’s expression, a tiny slice of a moment where the anger so evident on it clouded with another emotion.. But then it returned, streaking back into his eyes with a vengeance, his glare going dagger sharp once more as his scowl cut a nasty line across his face.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Lance said, voice low but somehow loud at the same time. He rose to his feet, fists clenching at his sides, shoulders practically shaking, and Keith bristled again under the weight of his gaze, the pressure of his presence almost physical. When he spoke his voice faltered slightly, wavered between furious and dejected. “This is all just your way of saying I’ve overstayed my welcome, huh?”

_ NO _ , Keith though, screamed it in his mind even as his mouth shut tight and his teeth grit. The thought of Lance leaving messed his head up, did bad things to it, left him floundering helpless in his emotions. No, he didn’t want Lance to leave. He didn’t want Lance to move an entire city’s length away from him, didn’t want Lance to become nothing but a memory, an afterthought, someone he’d recall every once in a while as  _ almost something _ , as  _ dodging another bullet _ . It hurt so fucking bad to think about, it tore him apart and he couldn’t deal with pain like this, couldn’t deal with the burn under his skin or the ten-story-drop vertigo in his gut. 

But he couldn’t handle it,  _ he couldn’t handle it _ , and he wanted it gone, all gone. Wanted Lance gone and wanted Lance to take these unnecessary traitorous feelings with him, wanted to be free of the longing, wanted him gone so that he wouldn’t have to deal with all the roiling unresolved emotions inside of him. How could he ever do it? How the hell would he ever be able to spend time with Lance if he was always second guessing himself? Worrying if today was the day he made a mistake, slipped up, did something that made his true feelings apparent.

He hadn’t responded to Lance, too caught up in the roiling in his own head, but his silence seemed to be an answer in and of itself. Lance’s shoulders shook all the more, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles had gone pale as he spoke, 

“That’s what I thought,” His voice was tight, at odds with the anger painted plainly on his face. “That’s it, isn’t it? You  _ can’t wait _ for me to get out of here.”

No, and yes, and no and yes at the same time. Keith gripped the bowl so hard his fingers started to ache, his hand started shaking around it. No and yes, but how could he ever explain it? He was so tired, so fucking tired and he didn’t know what to do. He just wanted it to go back to the beginning, it was so easy back then - but just like everything else his stupid impulsive emotionally constipated ass had to ruin everything. It was all backfiring, blowing up in his face just like everything he’d ever done, and he should’ve known it would, should’ve been expecting it all along. His life was the walking embodiment of Murphy’s Law after all, just one fuck up after another.

“All I want is just some fucking peace and quiet, all right?” Keith cried out, exasperated, desperate to get a hold of himself, to find something to help him control himself, but all he had was a crumpling bag of chips and a bowl of slowly browning guac.

“Well,” Lance dragged it out in a snarky drawl, “Maybe I should leave then, so you can have your  _ peace and quiet _ .”

“Yeah well maybe you should!” Keith snapped back reactively,  _ the best defense is a good offense _ , the words flung like knives straight at Lance as fire burst under his skin and his pulse raced.

And maybe they were knives, something physical enough to explain why Lance staggered slightly at them, eyes widening as they both fell silent. And the silence, the silence was almost worse than the shouting - stifling and claustrophobic, the implication of Keith’s words filled the air between them like white noise. 

And then Lance was glaring again, but this time there was no fire behind it, not really. The line of his mouth trembled, his shoulders falling as he seemed to almost curl into himself.

“Fine.” He snapped, his voice wavering, and stalked out of the living room towards the front hall as Keith seethed in anger, unsure of just who he was angry with. Behind him he could hear the sound of a jacket being pulled off the coat rack, the jingle of keys, and then the door opened and shut with a bang.

Keith stood there with the blood pounding in his veins, his body feeling heavy and light at the same time, his joints quivering. He wanted to do something childish, like throw down the bowl so hard it shattered, stomp on the bag of chips until they were a powder. Instead, he forced himself to breathe, forced himself to walk back into the kitchen and put the chips away. Carefully, he covered the guac bowl and put it back in the fridge.

He wanted to scream.

He went back to his room instead, head pounding with the first pangs of a headache and the adrenaline leaving him shuddery, breathing fast and uneven. He felt sick, felt like he was in motion, felt energy coursing through his limbs and needed to get rid of it somehow. He threw himself on the bed, box springs creaking beneath him, and choked his need to vocalize in his throat, cut off the cries and the screams he wanted to let loose before he gave himself away, before they got to be too much, too wild and dangerous. Wrapping his blankets tight around himself, he rolled over to press his head to the cool surface of the wall, panting and trying to get his head to stop  _ just stop _ . It felt like there was acid in his gut, his entire body twitching with the pain of it. It felt like he had bullet holes in his chest.

What the fuck had he done? What the fuck… he didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to acknowledge it, didn’t want to believe that he’d actually said it. Didn’t want to accept that the reason Lance walked out that door was  _ because he told him to _ .

Burying himself in the blankets was helping him calm down, but it didn’t last long. The cool wall started to heat up from his breath and body temperature, and the comforting pressure of the blankets got more cloying and heated as he lay there. Soon enough he felt like he was cooking within his layers of blankets and covers, sweating far more than should have been possible. Groaning, he rolled over onto his other side. Lance probably hated him now. He’d probably hate him forever. Fuck.  _ FUCK _ .

Restlessly, he pulled and tugged at the blankets to loosen them, struggling to breathe evenly instead of gasping like a fish out of water. No, he couldn’t stay in bed, he needed to get up, walk it off maybe. Run it off. Maybe he should run, just go outside and pick a direction and  _ run _ . Run until his legs refused to move, run until his lungs refused to breathe and his body refused to work any longer. Who’d be there to clean him up if he puked though? God, he couldn’t give  a shit about that even, even if he knew that was exactly what would happen if he went outside. Maybe some stranger would take pity on him; maybe he’d walk back home covered in vomit. He couldn’t care. He couldn’t care.

He nearly tripped getting up out of bed, he had to drag his arms and legs out of the twisting lengths of blankets and covers before he could stand. Uneasily, he made his way out of his bedroom and into the living room, standing by the empty couch and staring at it as if that would somehow make Lance magically appear.

“Okay, what happened?” 

Pidge’s voice made him jolt, and he spun around to find her eyeing him with a puzzled and slightly disappointed expression.

“You… didn’t hear?” Keith asked, running a hand through his hair, struggling to calm the rapid beating of his heart.

“Well, I could tell you two were shouting but I had my headphones on.” Pidge said with a shrug. “Where’s Lance?”

“He… uh, he left.” Keith said, shifting from foot to foot restlessly. Pidge eyed him curiously - he didn’t like that, didn’t like the feel of eyes on him, especially not right then and there.

“What? He got pissed enough to just walk out?” Pidge asked, crossing her arms and giving Keith a look that screamed “Explanation. Now.”

“Yeah,” Keith let out a long breath. Pidge watched him expectantly, one eyebrow raised, but he balked at saying anymore, glancing away from her.

“Keith, what happened?” She probed, taking a couple steps closer to him. His shoulders stiffened, hackles raising, and he continued avoiding her gaze. Pidge wasn’t going to take it, however, and stepped  _ even closer _ , right into his personal space so she could lean over and look him straight in the face. Their eyes met, finally, and she said sternly, “Tell me what happened.”

“He just started going off about how I didn’t want him around anymore?”Keith blurted out, rubbing his face with his hands and groaning in frustration. “I just, I don’t know, I just started yelling back at him and I think… I said the wrong thing.”

“Oh my god.” Pidge’s eyes had widened, and her eyebrows shot up under her bangs. “Oh my fucking god Keith, you told him to leave didn’t you?””

“N-no, I mean  _ yes _ but I didn’t… I didn’t actually mean it,” Keith snapped back. Was it the truth? Was it even half the truth? God, he’d wanted a rest but he’d never wanted to actually hurt Lance, not like that.

“Okay, so first you practically drag this guy home with you,” Pidge was saying, actually sounding  _ amused _ , “Tell him he can stay until he finds a new place - and then you kick him out.”

“I didn’t kick him out!” Keith growled. “I just - It was just overwhelming, okay?”

“Keith,” Pidge said evenly, touching fingers to her forehead and struggling against the grin on her face. “I really appreciate the dramatics, I do, it’s a nice change from the humdrum monotony we used to have but - and I say this with all the love in my cold, shriveled heart - you done fucked up, boy.”

“That’s… that’s not helping.” Keith clenched his fingers in his hair again, closing his eyes and struggling against the sudden rising of anxiety.

“Okay, this should help,” Pidge said simply, “Call him.”

“What? No!” Keith’s eyes snapped open so he could shoot her a terrified look. “No, Pidge, he’s going to be  _ so pissed _ .”

“I’m sure he will be.” Pidge said, “And knowing him he’s probably feeling guilty as fuck too for like, taking advantage of our - or your - generosity or some shit like that.”

“Oh god…”

“Just call him Keith! What’s the worst he can do?” Pidge said, having the gall to grin at him cheekily. “Scream at you?”

He could not come back, Keith thought dejectedly. PIdge gave him several more seconds of silence, waiting expectantly, but then sighed loudly and rolled her eyes.

“Call him,” She said, exasperated, “Look, I know you get like this sometimes, like when your emotions get all whirly in your head you want to shut down instead of dealing with them and then you get moody and shit and end up taking it out on everyone around you, but this is seriously too much.”

“No.” Keith said, doing exactly what Pidge said, retreating into himself in a desperate attempt to keep from having to deal with the situation. “Can you just leave me the fuck alone?”

“No!” Pidge glared at him, hands on her hips and frown on her face, “I didn’t do anything to you, Keith, and neither did Lance. I know this is how you deal with shit - but seriously it’s time to give it up. Man up, call him, and apologize for being an asswipe.”

“Fine.” Keith grumbled, more to get Pidge off of his ass than anything else. He still balked at the idea, his frayed nerves screaming from just thinking about it, but at least Pidge didn’t seem inclined to continue harassing him about it.

“Good. I’m going back to this shitty project of mine.” Pidge said with a sigh. She patted Keith’s arm and left for her room again, leaving him alone.

Biting his lip, Keith considered his options. He could go to his room and do something to keep his mind off of Lance and hope that it all blew over, and hope that Pidge never found out he actually didn’t call him. Or he could call him and apologize - the option he dreaded most since it involved  _ confrontation _ and even over a phone it was terrifying. He’d take anyone in a fight but dealing with emotional things always left him reeling in the lurch, never quite sure if he was getting it right. 

Sighing in resignation, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and pulled up Lance’s number. Eyeing Pidge’s door warily, he decided to head back to his room to call, as if it mattered whether she might hear him or not. Once inside he tapped the call button and waited, the trepidation in his gut now rolling in time with the rings, his body getting shuddery again as he tried not to think about all the ways the conversation could go wrong.

He was spared the conversation, however, as Lance didn’t answer the phone. Keith panicked the moment the other’s man’s cheery voicemail recording came on, hanging up immediately. Staring down at the call screen, he considered trying again - but who was he kidding? Lance didn’t miss his call, he just didn’t pick up. Keith would’ve done the same in his position.

He headed for his bed, the walls of his room and the contours of the tangled blankets dimly lit by the light from his phone. Lance probably didn’t even want to think of him right then,  Lance thought Keith hated him, Lance was probably hurting far worse than Keith was. Chewing on his bottom lip, fingers trembling, Keith tapped out a text message  -  _ i’m sorry _ \- and sent it before he could reconsider. The weight on his shoulders didn’t budge, however; he still felt crushed, anxious, unable to get his emotions back under control. 

He placed the phone onto the bedside cabinet before he got caught up in staring at the screen, waiting for a reply. He needed a distraction, anything get his mind off of Lance and off of  _ what he had done _ . Turning on his lamp, he walked over to his desk and grabbed his laptop, then hurried back to his bed and curled up on it once again, this time with the computer on his knees. There was an entire internet full of distraction out there, and he resolved to make full use of it.

After scouring his favorite blogs, watching some funny videos that managed to make him almost-grin, and reading local news stories, he found himself scrolling through his inbox. The regular account spam was all there, but for the first time in a long while he started paying attention to the notifications from Facebook. He’d get a few usually, birthday reminders and such, but lately there seemed to be an influx. Curious, he opened up Facebook and logged in.

His profile picture was years old - younger and still sporting the Garrison-standard crew cut. He remembered not wanting to change his hair back then, not wanting to change  _ himself _ , as if through sheer force of will he’d be able to somehow reverse the effects of his stupid recklessness and turn back time, set his life back on the course he’d always dreamed of. It was idealistic of him, in some weird twisted way. Ignoring the picture, he turned his attention to the bar at the top of the page instead, wary of letting his well-buried emotions over the expulsion from the Galaxy Garrison surface. There were several red boxes up there, but it was the number of notifications that caught this attention - 55. Puzzled, he clicked on the icon and was met with a page full of likes and comments so long it was almost overwhelming. His plans of distracting himself fell apart then, however, as most of the notifications were from Lance. It looked like the other man had gone through absolutely everything in Keith’s photo album - there were quite a few likes on the pictures from his trip to Peru - and sent him every game request possible. There was a collection of comments on his main page as well, all some variation of “you never come on FB so I’m just going to write stupid shit and you’ll never know”. 

Lance had been right, of course, and it did nothing to help Keith’s mood to see the amount of absolute crap flooding his wall. He shouldn’t have cared - he hadn’t spared a thought for Facebook in absolute ages - but it still managed to tick him off for some unexplainable reason. His gut wrenched again at the sight of Lance’s icon on his wall, and he was reminded of the text he’d sent - had Lance seen it? Had he responded? Keith hadn’t heard his phone buzz, but he might have missed it. He tore his gaze away from his laptop to check, grabbing the phone and pulling up the text history. No response. Should he try again? Would that sound too desperate? Sighing, he put the phone back and turned back to his laptop. 

Lance’s icon taunted him, and his cheerful comments on Keith’s page left Keith feeling both helpless and regretful. Before he knew it, he was clicking on Lance’s icon and pulling up his page. His profile pic was a selfie of himself and several cats, angled from high up so that most of it was Lance’s grinning face and a mix of cat faces and backs and tails. Keith thought he recognized the stairs Lance was sitting on, thought maybe they were the back steps of their building. There were more pictures posted on his wall, selfies or photos of food (the most recent being that day’s chicken parmigiana with the caption “if I was a Sim my cooking skill would have maxed out a long time ago”) or shared memes that Keith had never heard of or seen before. There were replies and posts on his wall from other people as well - the most prevalent being from a Josefina. It took Keith a moment to realize who that was - not until he got to the post stating “ _ mamá _ ’s boliche sounds good right about now” to which Lance had responded “don’t you dare #homesick :c” did he realize that this must’ve been the younger sister Lance talked about so fondly sometimes.It seemed they kept in touch the most, as almost all of the interactions on Lance’s wall were between the two of them. 

None of this was helping Keith and his situation in the least, but now that he was on Lance’s page he couldn’t drag himself away. Here it was, so much information about Lance, a side of him Keith never saw, and Keith had never even thought of checking it out before. He liked to think that meant that he wasn’t a creep, but now that he was there… Well, Lance had obviously gone through Keith’s page, he reasoned, so it wouldn’t be a big deal for Keith to go through his.

So Keith started with scrolling down the wall at first, glancing over the comments and messages left there, but he quickly moved on to Lance’s album. Most of it was filled with selfies and cat pictures and parties. Keith could recognize Hunk in a lot of those, sometimes just there with Lance, sometimes with his arm around a tall, well built girl with large, amber eyes and dark brown hair cut into a short bob. They looked happy together, an enviously easy sort of happy that somehow made itself apparent even in pictures. Keith couldn’t look at them for too long; the bitterness got too much to swallow when he did.

He kept scrolling through the album, eyes flickering over the thumbnails, occasionally stopping to look at one closely. It soon became mindless, automatic, until all the faces became unrecognizable, until it all became one big blur. The flow of pictures was almost relaxing, he almost forgot about the whole mess that evening. Almost. The moment his mind barely glanced over that thought, his eyes flickered to his phone again where it lay silent and dark. He reached for it and tapped the screen to see the time. Nine fifty five. It wasn’t late, not really, but Keith couldn’t help the flicker of worry from coursing through him. Lance was fine, he told himself, he was an adult, he could stay out as late as he wanted. Biting his lip to keep from frowning, Keith placed the phone onto the bed next to himself and turned back to the screen.

He didn’t recognize the pictures before him, no surprise as he hadn’t really been paying attention to any that had streaked by as he scrolled. One caught his eye now that the page was still, however, and he clicked on the thumbnail to bring it up. Thematically it was much the same as most of Lance’s photos: Lance and a couple of friends crowding into the frame and grinning at the camera, possibly at a party considering the red cups solo cups in their hands. The date showed it was from several years back, taken sometime in the early spring. It was Lance’s expression that had caught his eye, even in the thumbnail - his grin easy and carefree at first glance, but the more Keith looked at the picture the more apparent it was that there was nothing easy going about it. His smile was too tight, eyes too tired to really be happy. He looked worn out and… and faded, like he was only a shade of himself. Nothing like the man Keith had come to know these past few weeks. Keith found himself wondering if that was still in Lance, that weariness, if he was only able to cover it up better these days. What had he said that one night? It seemed like so long ago now, but Keith could still hear his words clearly, “I got so good at acting like I was fine that sometimes I even believed it”. It hit him hard, right in the depths of the feelings he had been trying so hard to push away. Keith didn’t want Lance to have to pretend to be fine, he didn’t want him to act like things were okay if they weren’t, that wasn’t how friendships worked - that wasn’t how they were supposed to work.

And he really, really did not want to be the reason why Lance was sad again. 

 

So he picked up the phone again and typed again.

 

Keefer (10:05pm): i’m sorry

Keefer (10.05pm): i really mean it

Keefer (10:06pm): can u at least respond so I know ur not dead in a gutter somewhere?

 

Holding the phone loosely in his hands, Keith stared down at the screen and  _ willed _ Lance to respond. He had to respond. Eventually. Minutes ticked by, and Keith moved the phone to one hand so he could close his laptop and set it aside. Still no answer, and he was getting frustrated again, debating whether he should try calling or texting repeatedly or -

But then the phone buzzed in his hand, and after a moment of silent shock Keith swiped it on.

 

CouchTroll (10:15pm): why u worreid loll

 

Keith typed his response with barely a thought

 

Keefer (10.15pm): yes

 

And then added for good measure

 

Keefer (10.16pm): can u come back

 

Another long wait, and Keith didn’t know if Lance was doing it on purpose or if he was being distracted by something else. 

 

CouchTroll (10:27pm); havto thnk about it

 

Keith sighed, running a hand through his hair and fighting down the tremor of uncertainty within him that swelled at those words. Of course he had to think about it, Keith could understand that. 

 

Still, he hadn’t thought it would take  _ two hours _ for Lance to make up his mind. Keith spent them first curled up in his bed, staring out into the darkness of his room with his phone clutched in one hand, unable to sleep even though he felt more and more tired with each passing moment. Every creak of the house, every dimly echoed voice outside his window had him jerking up, senses focused on discerning whether or not it was Lance coming back into the apartment. Eventually he’d given up on the bed, moving into the living room instead. He’d turned on one of the standing lamps, leaving it on a lowest setting, and then sat there in the half-light at the kitchen pass through, arms crossed on the counter and head resting on them, the phone laying dark and silent nearby. It felt like ages, long enough for him to have dozed off but then the door was opening, and he could hear faltering steps accompanied by cheerful humming entering the apartment. He was on his feet and heading towards the entranceway in a flash.

Lance was back. For a moment that was all that mattered; Lance was  _ back _ and just seeing him was enough to bubble warmth throughout Keith’s chest and shoot relief through his veins. He felt shaky again, but this was a good kind of shaky, a relieved adrenaline-withdrawal shaky and he was okay with that, that was fine, because Lance was fine and he was back and everything was going to be okay. He watched as Lance tugged his jacket off, haphazardly off balance and yet still somehow able to keep upright. It was around the third time that Lance tried to very carefully hang his jacket on the coat rack, tongue sticking out and a severe look of concentration on his face, that Keith realized (belatedly, to be sure) that Lance was drunk. Maybe even  _ very _ drunk, considering that when he turned and saw Keith finally, a bright grin spread across his face.

“There he is!” He exclaimed happily, pointing at Keith. Keith might have thought that Lance had forgotten about everything that had happened with how he was acting, except when he spoke again his tone was sarcastically sweet and biting. “Did you miss me?”

“Uh… yeah?’ Keith eyed Lance uneasily, uncertain now of how things would go and desperate to have things right again. “I’m sorry.”

“Ah… yeah, you said that. Typed that.” Lance said, taking a few steps closer before stopping to lean against the wall. His voice was sloppy, words a bit slurred, but his attention was entirely, sharply on Keith. “What’re you sorry for?”

“Everything.” Keith said without hesitation. The sooner he got it over with, the sooner they could go back to… being whatever they were. That had to be the way this worked out, Keith wouldn’t accept anything else. “What I said today, how I’ve been acting, just… everything… I’ve just been a bit…”

He struggled to find a good word, but Lance found it for him, cheerfully supplying, “Moody.”

“Yeah.” Keith agreed quietly, watching Lance expectantly. The other man was staring straight at him in an honestly unnerving way, as if he was trying to read him, or look inside him or something. It was far too pointed, that gaze, far too predatory. Keith shifted uneasily, but he couldn’t look away.

“For the record,” Lance said, pushing himself off of the wall and taking a few more steps in Keith’s direction. “ _ This _ is why I’m not surprised you’re such a social pariah.”

“I’m  _ not _ a social pariah,” Keith bristled, glaring, but Lance only laughed and held out his arms. Keith stared at him for a long moment, uncomprehending, and asked, “What?”

“Uh, hug?” Lance rolled his eyes, then wiggled his fingers as he continued, “I think I deserve one for putting up with your shit today.”

“Where’s my hug for putting up with your shit everyday?” Keith grumbled under his breath, attempting to stall if only because his heart had picked up the moment he realized what Lance wanted and he was terrified that Lance would feel it or hear it or notice it somehow. They were supposed to hug? He was supposed to hug  _ Lance _ ? The closest they’d gotten to touching was when Lance poked him in the side when he was angry, maybe exchanging a high five for some reason, or when they sat too close to each other on the couch - scratch that, when  _ Lance _ sat too close to him on the couch, because Lance’s understanding of personal space could use some work. Hugging was so entirely beyond the limits of what they’d done up to that point that Keith wasn’t sure how to read it. 

But Lance was drunk, and Keith had the feeling that if he hadn’t been he wouldn’t have even asked for a hug. Which meant that if Keith missed this chance, it might be a very, very long time before he got it again. So he sighed and rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance as he stepped into the reach of Lance’s arms, and tried not to think about just how badly he wanted it, wanted Lance to hold him tight and pull him close - just like he did, tugging Keith in up to his chest and leaning his head against Keith’s shoulder. 

He was warm, like the warmth of a fireplace in the middle of winter, comfortable and welcoming and Keith couldn’t help himself. He melted into the embrace, arms ringing hesitantly around Lance’s sides as Lance tightened his grip around his shoulders. His heart beat staccato fast, pounding through his body so hard he was sure Lance could feel it. This close the smell of alcohol was strong, almost overpowering, yet somehow he could still make out the fruity coconut undertones of Lance’s bodywash and the crisp, earthy tones of what had to be  _ him _ , just him. Keith wanted to shove his face into Lance’s neck, breathe him in, hold him tighter and never let go. 

“Excellent hug,” Lance murmured blearily, the reverberations of his voice in his chest making Keith shudder. Lance’s arms shifted lazily around Keith’s shoulders, spreading warmth across his skin. “What you lack in social skills you make up for with surprising cuddliness.”

Keith snorted, ignoring the flush of warmth the spread across his face and straight through his core. This hug was lasting far too long, he was getting far too comfortable in the warm ring of Lance’s arms, the feel of their chests pressed against each other, in the way Lance’s breath ghosted warm against his neck. He had to find a way out of it, any longer and he’d lose the will to even try. Any longer and he really might give himself away.

“Tell me, were you drinking or were you rolling around on a barroom floor?” Keith said, hoping that Lance was drunk enough not to notice how breathless he sounded. 

“Excuse you,” Lance said, sounding horribly offended. He pulled back and fixed Keith with a narrow eyed glare. “Are you… are you trying to tell me I stink?”

“I’m telling you you reek,” Keith groaned, shoving at Lance’s chest to get him to move away, but Lance made an unhappy sound and shoved himself back onto him, rubbing his face into Keith’s shoulder and tightening his arms again.

“First you kick me out,” He whined unhappily. “Now you tell me I smell…  _ Rude _ .”

“Get off,” Keith growled weakly, struggling to detach Lance’s arms from around him. Lance refused to let go, and though his coordination was shoddy he still managed to keep a grip on Keith. They wrestled for a bit, Lance managing to somehow, almost magically, latch back on each time Keith thought he’d freed himself - the guy was like a fucking octopus, his hands and arms were  _ everywhere _ . And maybe, just maybe, Keith wasn’t trying the hardest to get out of the hug. Maybe he was enjoying grappling with Lance like this, enjoying their close proximity, enjoying how easy and comfortable it was, like they were actual friends who didn’t see touching each other as something to be scared of. LIke they were close enough for something like this.

And something inside of him was tearing again, ripping again, only this time it felt good - like he'd been wrapped up too tight and was finally breaking free, finally able to spread out. This was what they could have - the playful bickering, the closeness. This was what they could still be, and the thought was painful, hurting him somewhere deep inside. He wanted to cry but not really, because despite the pain he was happy. He was  _ happy _ , and he wanted to laugh, so he did. He let himself laugh, let himself feel a little lighter in the moment. The warmth was too much, it was rolling up inside of him like ocean waves, crashing through him and leaving him breathless. And Lance - Lance was looking at him as he laughed, grin widening and eyes sparking with something Keith couldn't recognize as he stilled his attempts to wrestle Keith into another hug. He was close by then too, close enough that Keith could track the way his eyes moved across his face, feel his breath on his lips. Keith’s laughter faded out, he couldn’t look away from Lance’s eyes, couldn’t help getting lost in the way the blues within his irises mixed like overlapping rivers of cerulean over cornflower and sky blue and shades that Keith wasn’t even sure had a name. He was drowning, he was sure of it, drowning in the blue of Lance’s eyes and the depth of the emotions in his chest, his breath caught and his heart pounding in his ears.

And then Lance was kissing him, one arm wrapped around Keith’s shoulder and and the other hand gripping his arm, lips warm and hungry against Keith’s own. Keith didn’t know how it had happened, couldn’t piece the moment together because his focus was on Lance - Lance’s touch and Lance’s taste and Lance’s warmth.

_ Push him away _ , Keith thought desperately, even as his hands gripped the fabric of Lance’s shirt. He should push him away, stop this before it went too far, before he was in too deep. His brain was on the fritz though, his body uncooperative, and he leaned into the kiss, responding to the heat and the touch. He should push him away, but he didn't - he let his eyes slip closed, let Lance pull him closer, parted lips to meet Lance’s tongue with his own. It was hard to remember that  _ Lance _ was the drunk one here, not with his brain screaming  _ Finally!  _ on repeat, shutting down and giving in to the senses and the touches and the immeasurable satisfaction of the moment.

He shuddered at the overflow of sensation, lost in the feel, lost under the weight of Lance’s arm across his shoulder and the grip of his fingers on his bicep, drawn to the heat of his body so solid against his own. They fit together like they were meant to be, and the thought sent a pang through his chest that cut through the cloud of pleasure. 

Did Lance like him? Did Lance  _ want _ him? 

It was a terrifying thought, one that managed to pierce through the feel of Lance’s lips on his own and the taste of beer on his tongue. He pulled back, just a bit, just enough to keep Lance from chasing him. It was almost too much when those blue eyes focused on his in confusion, fuck, it would’ve been so easy to just give in again - but somehow Keith managed to stay in control, even when Lance let his forehead rest against Keith's, his breath hot on his cheek.

“You kiss pretty good for a guy that doesn't like sex,” Lance breathed, grinning sloppily. Keith snorted,  _ how did that even make sense? _ , struggling to calm his heart as he finally managed to dislodge Lance’s arms and shove him away.

“You taste like shit.” He said as irritably as he could while out of breath and with his heart racing. It took far more self control than he expected to fight the urge to pull Lance back in, to hold him and be close to him again. “And you're talking stupid. Go to sleep.”

Lance grumbled, rolling his eyes, but Keith gave him another shove, this time towards the couch. Swaying slightly, Lance stumbled his way to the couch as Keith watched, the happy glow from moments before beginning to cool as his head reverberated with one, dangerous and enticing thought,

_ Did Lance like him? _

 

-

  
  


It was a restless night. Every time Keith was about to fall asleep his thoughts turned to Lance again, to the warmth of his arms and the press of his lips, and he'd jolt awake with his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't let himself fall asleep to that, he didn't want to know what his dreams would be like if he did, and so he barely dozed, his mind racing ahead of him each time his eyes closed. He was wide awake when his alarm went off, head aching from the strain of fighting his unruly feelings and eyes burning with the lack of sleep. It had been  _ hours _ but he could still imagine the feel of Lance’s body next to his, his warmth so close and so comfortable beside him, Lance lips hot and wet against his.

Fuck, this was bad. Keith dragged himself out of bed, wishing he could just forget the previous night, wishing he could find an erase button on his mind. It was bad enough when all he could do was imagine it, but  _ knowing _ what it felt like to be so close to Lance… he was wrecked. He was far beyond wrecked. How the hell would he be able to move past it all now?

He changed in a weary stupor, thoughts muddling round and round his head. He pulled his shirt on backwards the first time around, and spent far too much time looking for his pants when they were right there, hanging on the back of his chair. Tucking his wallet into a back pocket, he dragged a random hoodie off the bedroom floor by the closet and put it on as he walked out his door.

He couldn't keep his eyes from wandering to the couch when he left his room. Lance was sprawled out on his stomach on the narrow couch seat, still fully clothed and blissfully asleep. One of his legs was hanging awkwardly off the side, and the blanket he had pulled over himself had fallen off during the night. Keith found himself walking over quietly to pick it back up, laying it gently over him again. This close he could hear his low snores and see the drool staining the pillowcase under Lance’s head, but the sigh he let out was fond rather than disgusted. He wondered if Lance would remember anything from the night before, or if it would all get lost in the black hole of drunkenness. He wasn’t quite sure which he would prefer.

He needed to go to work, he reminded himself.

He found himself in front of Pidge’s door instead. She was a sound, if often abrasive and roundabout, voice of reason. Maybe she could help him with the mess he’d found himself in. Maybe she could find something to say that would make it all better. And sure, it was getting close to four-thirty in the morning and she might’ve been asleep, but he’d given up on rational thinking sometime just after Lance kissed him and drowned him in a sea of unresolved emotions. Knocking on her door just made sense right then, so that was what he did, keeping a wary eye on the couch in case Lance stirred at the noise. He didn’t, and Keith was surprised by the sound of Pidge’s surprisingly alert voice telling him to come in.

“When did you get up?” He asked her quietly as he entered, closing the door behind himself.

“Get up?” Pidge asked, blinking red-rimmed eyes and shooting him a puzzled look. There were at least three empty cans of Venom energy drink on her desk, and all four of her screens were filled with coding and programs that Keith couldn’t decipher no matter how many times she tried to explain them to him. Pidge groaned after a second, letting out a relatively loud “FUCK” directly after. 

“Ugh, whatever,” She grumbled, pulling her glasses off and rubbing her eyes with one hand. “What do you want?”

What did he want? What did he want… He fumbled with his thoughts a moment, trying to think of a way to explain the situation, explain his mess and explain how he needed her help.

“Keith,” Pidge groaned again impatiently, barely waiting for a response. “I can’t read your mind.”

“I don’t know.” Keith said finally, fiddling with the sleeve of his hoodie and shooting Pidge an uncomfortable look. 

“Yeah, okay.” Pidge stared him down, unimpressed by his lack of explanation. “So, were you up when Lance came back?”

“Uh, yeah.” Keith said, wondering if he should tell her about the texts, about waiting up for the other man to come back. Of sitting out in the kitchen with the light on so he wouldn’t miss it. Wondered if she’d think it was stupid of him to do that. The words weren’t coming to him, and he remained silent, continuing to eye Pidge uncertainly.

“Did you apologize?” Pidge pressed on, clearly irritated by his lack of communication. And fuck, between her snappy tone and the memories starting to resurface,  _ again _ , he found himself wishing he’d just gone to work instead. Or better yet, stayed in bed. But he was there for a reason, and there was Pidge, giving him an uncompromising look that made it clear she wasn’t in the mood for drawn out conversation.

“Yeah.” Keith responded quietly finally, trying to quiet the uneasy tremor inside him.

“And how did that go?” Pidge asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That…” Keith hesitated, trying to think of how to explain. Pidge’s eyes were on him, but he couldn’t raise his own to meet her gaze. He breathed out slowly, steeled himself, and said as quickly as he could, “He kissed me.”

“What?” Pidge exclaimed, eyes wide when Keith finally managed to look at her. “He  _ kissed _ you?”

“Well, he was sort of drunk so…” Keith shrugged, crossing his arms as if that would help him in the situation. All it did was put pressure on his chest and remind him of the tightness within it.

“And…?” Pidge was leaning forward in her seat now, staring at him with barely contained anticipation, as if she were excited or something.

“And nothing. I told him to go to sleep and he did and… that’s it.” Keith said, leaning back against the door, unwilling to say anything more, even though that was the whole point of going to Pidge in the first place. Even though  _ not _ telling her was clenching his chest so tight it hurt. He couldn’t form the words, but he knew she’d find a way to drag them out of him.

“No. No, that’s not it.” Pidge’s eyes narrowed as she scrutinized him, he felt like she was picking him apart piece by piece. “What else, Keith?”

“Pidge-”

“You didn’t just come in to tell me that.” Pidge said, and  _ this _ was what he came for, for that tenacity that drove her to push him and push him until he finally cracked, until he finally let out everything he was keeping inside. And she didn’t fail him that day, she never had, a hard light in her eyes as a mischievous grin danced across her face, her voice haughty and convincing. “And you know that whatever it is that you’re not saying, I’ll find out eventually. I always do. So what’s it going to be, the easy way or the hard way?”

“I think I like him.” Keith blurted out, as desperate for that opening she had created in him as he was to keep from being forced into enduring one of Pidge’s interrogations. It was a bit embarrassing, the fact that he still wasn’t able to just come out and  _ say _ things, that he needed to be poked and prodded until he finally cracked. He licked his lips, his voice wavering slightly  as he added, “I think I like him a lot.”

Pidge looked surprised, though Keith couldn’t be sure if it was from how quickly he’d divulged, or from the words themselves. He waited silently for her reaction, and for a long moment she only looked at him, a strangely wistful look on her face.

“You only  _ think _ you do?” She asked finally, but her voice was softer when she did, like she knew she was treading on delicate ground.

“I don’t know.” Keith sighed, fingers gripping at the sleeves of his hoodie. “I don’t know if it’s… I just, I don’t know what I’m going to do about it.”

“Yeah, but… I guess that explains a lot…” Pidge said, grinning at him. Keith groaned, and her grin widened. “See, you know it too. You’re over here going “I don’t know” but you  _ do _ know. You like him… it’s kind of adorable, don’t you think?”

“Shut up, please,” Keith closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the door.

“Come on, you can at least agree that your whole story is cute - wait, Keith, don’t,” Pidge’s voice got stern, but Keith wasn’t listening to her anymore. “Keith I said don’t - don’t do the thing!”

Keith did do the thing, sliding down with his back against the door until he was seated on the floor, knees bent in front of him soe he could tuck his face into them. He felt sick with the weight of his feelings for Lance, with the depth of them, with how badly he wanted to touch him again, hold him, kiss him, feel him curl up beside him. How badly he wanted to laugh with him again, to joke around and to bicker over petty shit and to just spend time around him - and more than that, know that it was  _ something _ between them that allowed that sense of comfort, something more than friendship, a connection that ran deep between them. Fuck, he wanted it. He wanted it.

Pidge sighed heavily, and he could hear her shifting on her chair but he refused to look up at her. 

“Whatever.” He said finally, more to himself than to her, as he closed his eyes and wished he was somewhere far, far away. In the mountains, maybe, on a cliffside road. Wind in his hair. Alone. He breathed deep again, forcing himself to accept that scenario, to accept _being alone_ as the answer to the question of _what he wanted_.  “It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh no, Keith,” Pidge sounded like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to be sympathetic or serious, her voice wavering. “Don’t say it like that, you don’t know - it might not be bad.”

“No.”

“At least you get along with him? For the most part, I mean, these past two weeks not included. And he seems to be attracted to you.”

“He kissed me when he was drunk. That’s not exactly a great indicator of anything other than lack of inhibition.” Keith replied morosely, all the while clinging to that fact like a lifeline. If Lance only kissed him because he was drunk, if Lance didn’t actually like him, then yeah life would be fucking difficult but there’d be no reason to expect… there’d be no reason for him to  _ hope _ ...

“Yeah, but-”

“Pidge, it can’t work.” Keith cut in, breath shaky. 

For a moment the only thing breaking the silence between them was the steady hum of the computer fans.

Then Pidge spoke, slowly and quietly and with so much care in her voice it made Keith’s heart ache - “It wouldn’t hurt to give it another shot.”

And Keith bit his lip, fought back the tremor that shuddered its way through him, fought back the flood of doubt and the memories of regret so it wouldn’t stain his voice, so it wouldn’t weaken it and make it shake.

“I don’t have the energy to give it another shot.”

The chair creaked again, soft footsteps padded their way to him and then Pidge was next to him, her hand on his shoulder.

“Just think about it.” She said gently, “And get up off my floor. You’re going to be late for work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so long it was almost revolting. Apologies if anything felt awkward and if the writing felt stiff?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey All! Ch 7 is here and I hope you're prepared for the ride. It was a trip to write, and I really hope you enjoy!
> 
> [Before you buckle in for the ride, please check out this cute fanart by pinkpepperccrn on tumblr! (click!)](http://pinkpepperccrn.tumblr.com/post/152660899842/what-are-you-willing-to-do-hollos-fic-where) (thanks again!!!)
> 
> I think you're all gonna enjoy this chapter. Please prepare for bloodplay again, if you need to.
> 
> And if you'd like, you can find me at the following places:  
> [Tumblr: JustBloodCamThings Updates tagged as BloodCam fic (with space)](http://justbloodcamthings.tumblr.com)  
> [Twitter: itsdetachable BloodCam updates will be tagged #bloodcamfic](http://twitter.com/itsdetachable)

Keith spent the full thirty minutes of his lunch break outside, sitting under a tree in the park a block away from his work. He didn't know what he was looking for out there, quiet or peace or  _ answers _ . He wouldn't have minded a nap, even out there sitting on the cool and slightly moist grass at the foot of the tree. He was so fucking tired he'd been having trouble focusing on what he was doing at work, all while his brain kept repeating everything that had gone wrong the night before. He wanted a rest, and he wanted to lose consciousness for at least a few moments. Instead, his eyes kept traveling restlessly over the scenery in front of  him. The leaves were beginning to change color, a scattering of coppers among the green, and above head wisps of clouds traveled leisurely across the sky. It should've been calming his racing mind, but all Keith felt was wired. His skin tingled almost constantly, his lips burned with the memory of the kiss, and he hated himself for letting it affect him so much. Hated himself for being unable to shake it off.

Lance hadn't texted him once that morning, something so routine he usually didn't give it another thought. That day it had disquiet cooling heavy in his gut. He hated that too.

-

Taking the steps up to his apartment was a daunting task that day. Keith wanted to curl up at the base of the steps, close his eyes and drift away. Not only would it let him get some much needed rest, it would delay the inevitable meeting with Lance. He was dreading it, to be completely honest. He didn't want to find out just how much Lance remembered from the night before - if he remembered anything at all.

Somehow he managed to drag himself upstairs. The TV was playing when he entered the door, but too low for him to make out what was on. There were no voices, so he assumed Pidge was in her room. Most days she'd be joining Lance around that time, and he'd find the two of them chatting away on the couch or arguing over dinner options.

Kicking his shoes off by the door, he raked his fingers through his hair - it needed a wash, a real wash not the rinse-and-go he'd been doing the last few days - and with firm resolution setting his jaw, stepped further into the apartment.

Lance was sitting at the pass through, chin in hand as he stared at the laptop screen in front of him. He glanced up when Keith appeared around the corner, and for the shortest moment a look of utter panic widened his eyes. Then he was grinning, albeit tightly, and sitting up straighter.

“Uh. Hey.” 

“Hey.” Keith responded. They watched each other uncertainly for a moment. Keith's skin itched, he wanted to run again but that wasn't a solution. So he cleared his throat, crossed his arms and said. “I'm sorry. You know, for...for everything. Just wanted to say it in case you didn't remember…”

“Oh, yeah, I uh...I remembered that…” Lance replied with a vague chuckle, looking away and rubbing at the back of his neck. Something about his tone hinted at him remembering more, but Keith wasn't going to touch on that.

“So. Uh, last night…” Lance was, it seemed. He wasn’t facing Keith exactly but sort of glancing at him out of the corner of his eye as he tapped fingers along the counter. “Did I do anything… weird?”

“Weird?” Keith stiffened, not expecting that question - did Lance actually remember…? “Do you remember anything at all?”

Maybe? Kind of.” Lance motioned with his hand, squinting at nothing as he seemed to try to remember. “It’s all really, really vague…”

Keith nodded, but didn’t respond. It was awkward talking like this, with Keith leaning against the entrance to the kitchen area and Lance sitting at the pass through. They were technically close enough to talk but at the same time it felt like there was a definite separation between them. Keith didn’t know what to make of it, wondering if Lance had planned it like that, planned to be sitting at the pass through counter instead of the couch as usual, planned to have this  _ space _ between them while they talked. 

He looked uncomfortable enough to think of something like that - barely able to meet Keith’s eye, biting his lip as his brow furrowed in thought. Keith should be the one doing that, avoiding Lance’s eyes and feeling out of place, after everything he’d said the night before.  _ He _ should’ve been feeling awkward and uneasy. Well, he did feel awkward, but only because he wanted to move past it all, shove it in the back of his mind and walk on, and he couldn’t do that until this conversation got out of the way first. There was no unease, however - he’d said what he’d needed to say and he was being  _ honest _ and that was all there was to it. If Lance could just drop it now they’d be fine. He could go back to being annoying but nice and Keith could go back to pretending he didn’t notice the way the light sparkled in his eyes or the way his cocky smirk burst warm feelings in his chest and they’d be fine and fucking dandy.

Lance didn’t drop it.

“Did I maybe-” Lance said in a burst, then ground to a halt almost immediately, turning his gaze to Keith for a full five seconds before lowering it again and finishing lamely, “Do  _ something _ ?”

“Something?”

“Something…” Lance took a breath, hand at his temple and gaze directed far away from Keith. “Something  _ inappropriate _ .”

“Oh,” Keith felt warm all of a sudden, and Lance still wasn’t looking at him, and he realized that Lance probably did remember, at least a part of it. “Uh, yeah.”

“Fuck!” Lance’s exclamation surprised Keith for one, but the shocked and somewhat terrified look he shot him caught him off guard. “Oh shit man, I'm sorry.”

“It's all right,” Keith said, unsure of just why Lance looked so distraught. “Seriously, it's fine.”

“I just… I just get all handsy and flirty when I drink too much, like I know it happens sometimes  but I didn't think I'd do anything to you, I swear,” Lance said, slumping in his seat, his elbows on the counter and face in his hands.

“You get handsy and flirt when you drink coffee so…” Keith said in response. Lance laughed at that, weakly but it was a laugh, and Keith grinned, relieved. “Besides, this might surprise you, but you're not the first person to drunk kiss me.”

“Another name on the list, huh? What an honor.” Lance laughed into his hands, and muttered something that Keith didn’t quite catch.

“What?” He asked. Lance shook his head in reply, letting his hands drop to the counter. If Keith hadn’t seen it he wouldn’t have believed it but there it was - Lance was  _ blushing _ , his cheeks darkened as he kept his gaze firmly lowered. Something stirred in Keith’s chest in the sight, it was  _ adorable _ and he realized he was grinning. 

“I’m still sorry,” Lance said, finally glancing over at Keith shamefully. “I didn’t… didn’t mean to do that.”

There went the grin. Lance’s words hit him like a dagger to the heart, sparking pain and tightening his throat. He hadn’t expected that, hadn’t expected it to hit him so hard, but there it was - disappointment burning through harsh and chill. It wasn’t that he hadn’t expected it, but there in the moment he found it almost too much to bear. 

“Seriously, it’s fine.” Keith said, forcing the half-grin back onto this face and hoping his emotions didn’t taint his tone and words. 

“So we’re cool?” Lance asked, smiling hopefully as he looked over at Keith. Their eyes met, and the genuine and open way Lance looked at him was just enough to shudder Keith’s heart with warmth.

“Yeah,” Keith said, hoping that someday soon his runaway feelings would just fuck off and leave him alone and stop sending him on these rollercoaster rides of highs and lows. “As long as you remember that just because I’m a jerk it doesn’t mean I hate you or anything…”

Lance’s smile widened, his eyes growing lighter as Keith watched. The tension went out of his shoulders and the relief was evident in his voice when he spoke again.

“That’s awesome, man.” Lance breathed out a sigh of relief, gripping the edge of the counter and leaning all the way back on his seat until it tipped back. “But listen, you gotta do me a favor though.”

“What kind of favor?” Keith asked, tearing his gaze away and walking over to the fridge. He could feel Lance’s eyes on his back, heard the bar stool set back down even with a thump as he opened the fridge.

“Try not to lock yourself in your room for a million hours everyday and maybe spend some time with us plebes every once in a while?” Lance said, a hint of his regular cockiness, but that was soon replaced with a slight awkwardness as he added, hesitantly, “Kind of miss you when you’re not around.”

Keith wasn’t sure what sent the flutter of butterfly wings dancing around his chest, whether it was Lance’s words that rang with a shy honesty, or the full bowl of guacamole on the bottom shelf of the fridge with a winking smiley face drawn in sharpie on the plastic wrap, but for once he didn’t fight back the feeling, let it grow and warm him through and spread a grin across his face. 

“I think I can manage that.”

-

Things went back to normal after that. Maybe better than normal, because neither one of them was snappy like before, not really, and the moments they had where they actually got along came more and more often. If Keith happened to be all growls and glares after a long day at work, Lance would take the step back and let him have his breather - but when Lance came knocking on Keith's door a couple of hours later, ready to drag him out of his dark den by force if necessary, Keith found it easier than before to let himself be dragged out and relax and spend some time with both Lance and Pidge. It was beginning to feel good again, it was beginning to feel like they were actually friends.

None of it did anything in the way of tempering Keith’s crush, however. The more time he spent with Lance, the more things he noticed about him; the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled wide enough, how animated he got when he was very excited about something (all waving hands and gestures and full body poses that Keith could swear he hadn’t allowed himself to do before), the beauty mark he had right under the line of his jaw on the right side that Keith only caught sight of because Lance had unceremoniously dumped him onto the floor off of the couch to win control of the remote and struck a triumphant pose right after. Lance had a habit of wrinkling his nose at anything that he found unpleasant or annoying, and he couldn’t keep from tapping his fingers or bouncing his foot when he sat still for too long. His volume control was shot when he was excited or angry or spooked by something and  _ he could ramble for hours _ . That was a new development, one Keith had to assume happened because he was finally comfortable enough around them to allow himself to do so. 

There were a lot of new developments, actually, and each one caught Keith off guard, and not in a bad way. While a lot of them he found irritating (he’d been whacked one too many times by Lance energetically describing something) he also found them endearing, dare he say,  _ adorable _ . Likeable. He was grossly terrified of slipping up one day, he was dead certain Lance would catch him staring at him eventually, notice the  _ way _ he looked at him. Maybe Lance would make some stupid half-flirtatious comment and Keith would be too flustered to do anything but  _ respond  _ to it. Foreboding colored all of his worries about Lance finding out his feelings for him - even when, as days passed, Keith began to get the feeling that he wasn't the only one fighting against themself. 

It wasn't an odd thing to have Lance looking at him. Lance had this odd habit of just  _ looking _ at people occasionally, sometimes directly and sometimes not. Sometimes he looked spaced out when doing It, like he was thinking about something else and his eyes just happened to fall on a person. Sometimes he looked like he was trying to piece together the mysteries of the universe and the key lay in whoever his gaze had fallen on at the moment. Since the times that Keith spent around him usually had a lack of other people, unless they went down to Starbucks or Pidge had joined them to hang out, that meant most of the time Lance’s gaze was resting on  _ him _ .

And Keith really had gotten used to it, sort of. It still sent a prickle up his spine, and sometimes he didn't realize why and he'd tense up defensively, but he could get by. The recent looks were different however. Side-eyed glances, flickering looks when they were in the same room but not exactly interacting, and Keith hadn't missed the way Lance had looked at him as they left to head down to the store one day, eyes intently focused on him but with a different light than he'd ever seen before, Lance’s sharp, cocky grin going soft and gentle as he watched Keith laughs in response to a quip so ridiculously stupid it  _ had _ to be funny.

He hadn't missed the way Lance had pointedly looked in a different direction when he'd forgotten his clothes and had to walk back to his room after his shower one night with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. 

Keith might've been dense but he wasn't stupid, and while flirting flew right over his head a lot of the time when it wasn't direct - flirting was hard because it was  _ words _ and  _ emotions _ and understanding those came hard to him - he'd learned to read body language a long, long time ago. It didn't take a genius to see that Lance was interested (although a genius did comment on it, Pidge sing-singing a quiet “Not going to say I told you so” in his direction after he'd challenged Lance to arm wrestling for the last slice of pie, a slice he only won because Lance gave in way too early, face flushed when he left in a huff to find some other snack in the kitchen).

Whether Lance had been interested before the drunken kiss or not, Keith didn't know, but this new revelation had thrown him for a loop, sending his emotions into a flurry of chaotic opposition. He didn’t want it, he couldn’t want it. But every time tried to remind himself of that, tried to tell himself he wasn't interested in anything other than friendship with the man - feelings be damned - Lance would  _ do it again _ : laugh, or smirk or make a snarky comment or say something guaranteed to rile him up with a twinkle in his eye, and Keith would find himself falling all over again.

He told himself, sternly, that he wasn't strong enough to get into a relationship again.

The problem was, he was pretty certain he wasn't strong enough to resist the pull of one either.

-

Keith was dozing in the armchair one day, having opted to wait for Pidge to come back with the Thai food they were having for dinner (Lance had worked all morning and hadn't had time to make anything) outside of his room. It wasn't much of a nap; he'd curled up sideways, awkwardly, on the armchair and that alone would have been enough to keep him from falling asleep. Lance bustled around the apartment, emptying the dishwasher and rearranging the plants on the windowsill (Keith didn't remember them having plants before) and occasionally sitting down on the couch to check something on his laptop. He hummed to himself as he did, though Keith couldn't tell if he had his iPod on or not. His flurry of movement encroached on Keith’s senses just enough to keep him just this side of awake, even though he could tell Lance was trying his best to not make too much noise.

Keith couldn't help but glance at him every now and then, couldn't help noticing him when he was nearer, as if there were a radar inside of him that only pinged when Lance was around. It had gotten worse over the past couple of weeks since the incident, but Keith was beginning to welcome it. If he wouldn't allow himself to pursue a relationship, he could at least allow himself the indulgence of looking, of noticing Lance and appreciating his presence.

He must have actually drifted off at some point, because he found himself snapping awake in response to a sudden sound. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he looked around. Nothing much seemed to have changed, so he couldn't have fallen asleep for long, but he couldn’t place what had woken him up.

“Shit, did I wake you up?” Lance said, and Keith's gaze focused back on him where he was sitting on the couch. “Sorry man.”

“It's okay,” Keith said, shifting to sit up straighter in his seat. “Something happen?”

“I got the apartment!” Lance replied, grinning wide. He looked ridiculously happy, and a bit relieved. “I mean I think I did. Pretty sure. They just emailed me now.”

Keith cocked an eyebrow, trying to remember which if the apartments Lance had checked out lately was the one he was most excited about. His brain wasn't up for the task just yet, however, and he gave up on it soon. Besides, that ugly bitter feeling was creeping up now, twisting inside of him at the mere thought of Lance leaving.

“Which one was that?” He asked, stretching his arms and back out. His left shoulder hurt like hell from the odd position and his left leg was all pins and needles. He winced, wiggling it, but that only made the sensation worse.

“The two bedroom off of Wicker,” Lance said, looking back to the screen of his laptop.

“That's a pricey area, isn't it?” Keith asked, shifting into a more comfortable pose. Lance grunted in reply, eyes still focused on the screen. 

“It's a basement apartment and apparently the kitchen floods when it rains so the landlord took a couple hundred off the rent,” He said finally, but he sounded a bit unhappy. Well, anyone would be unhappy with a flooded room but this seemed different. Keith watched him a moment, saw him sigh as he leaned against the backrest, worry creasing his forehead. After a moment he shoved the laptop on the couch next to him and covered his face with his hands, muttering something under his breath.

“What's wrong?” Keith ventured.

“The guy wants two months rent as the security deposit.” Lance groaned. 

“Ouch, that's like…”

“Twenty-two hundred.” Lance groaned louder. “I can't pay that, not all at once, not yet at least. And he wants it by Monday if I want the place.”

“Fuck.” Keith wasn't sure how else to respond.

“Exactly.” Lance said morosely, dropping his hands to his lap and looking over at the laptop screen with a sour look on his face.

“If it doesn't work out I'm sure you'll find something else,” Keith said.

“I know but… I kind of like this place.” Lance said with a sigh. His entire face fell into the sad frown, his shoulders hunching slightly.

“What do you like, the flooded kitchen?” Keith asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Shut up,” Lance shot him a glare. “And no, not the flooded kitchen. It's only an inch or two anyways… No, I like the area. There's like art galleries - not fancy shit but like street art and up and coming artists, and there's places that showcase new bands and there's a comedy club nearby and they have some sort of festival going on every month. It's just a really, really cool neighborhood and I've kind of always wanted to live there, you know?”

Keith could see the fervent look in his eyes, the excited grin that blossomed on his face. Lance didn't just like the neighborhood, he loved it. Keith knew it was a bit of a trek from his own apartment, especially with no highways going in that direction, but it wasn't outrageous. He had a car, he could get there easily if he wanted to and - fuck. He closed his eyes and rubbed at them for a second, forcing out the thoughts that had suddenly and subtly wormed their way into his brain.

“I can borrow you some money. Pidge too, probably.” he said, finally looking back at Lance. The other man was looking at him in shock, eyes wide and mouth dropped open into a little ‘o’.

“What?” He squeaked -  _ actually  _ squeaked.

“For the deposit.” Keith clarified. “You could just pay us back later.”

“No.” Lance said, in a firm and serious tone that sounded nothing like him. He shook his head and repeated, “No. I can't do that.”

“Why not?” Keith shifted on the armchair again, dropping his legs to the ground and turning to face Lance.

“Because I'm  _ shit _ at returning money, okay? Like, absolute shit.” Lance was going to get on a roll, Keith could just tell these things now - read the almost imperceptible rise in his voice, the way he lifted a hand to accentuate his words, the slightest shift in his shoulders. “I'm good with bills okay, I get payments in on time and all that shit but I  _ cannot _ borrow money okay? Not from people, except maybe Hunk but that's sort of different, but not from anyone else, I’m not-”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Keith rubbed at his temples. “I won't borrow you any money.”

“Thank you.” Lance said and Keith rolled his eyes.

“But there has to be another way,” Keith said. Lance gave a last forlorn look at the laptop screen, then turned to him.

“It's okay, there'll be other places.” He managed a grin, but it was weak and Keith hated it. Maybe not, but he hated that Lance was trying to play it off like he couldn't care less about the apartment, as if he hadn't just gushed praises on the neighborhood two minutes ago. He hated it and he wanted to fix it, and he didn't realize where his brain was running with that until he opened his mouth.

“Maybe you could have a show.”

Lance's grin froze on his face, but his eyes widened as he froze like a deer in the headlights. Keith froze as well, wondering where the hell that had come from, had he actually - had those words  _ really _ come of out his mouth.

“Seriously?” Lance asked weakly, like he couldn’t find the air to speak with. Keith shrugged.

“Sure, why not?” Keith couldn't drop it now. Unbidden thoughts of the camshow came back to him, the blood and the blades and the way the cuts looked so intricate and delicate and carnal. He licked his lips, refocusing on Lance. “You can use my bedroom, and Pidge is out on Friday night's anyways…”

There was something in the way Lance looked right then, something in the way his eyes glinted, in the set of his shoulders and the way he'd cocked his head - fuck, that head tilt Keith had memorized before he’d even known Lance, the same fucking one he'd seen countless times since he'd met him - and yet somehow  _ now _ of all times it sent a tremor of anticipation through him, vibrated him to the tips of his fingers.

“I wasn't…” Lance began, paused to bite his lips as his eyes fluttered around the room. “You know, I wasn’t going to do anything. I didn't want to make it weird.”

“I get that,” Keith said softly, “But if you're not going to take any money from us then you might as well do a show.”

“Why, did you miss it?” Lance asked, turning back to Keith with a taunting grin on his face. 

“Did you?” Keith shot back without hesitation. 

The air was tense, but for once it wasn't with awkwardness or anger. 

“I can just wait for another apartment,” Lance said, but it was weak and transparent. There was a look in his eyes, a hunger that Keith hadn’t seen before.

“You don't want a different apartment,” Keith pressed, and maybe his own feelings were pushing the words out of his mouth. “You want this one.”

“It's a decent rent, for the area.” Lance reasoned, his resolve cracking before Keith's eyes. He glanced at the laptop screen again, eyes a little brighter than before. “It has it's own washer and dryer too.”

“Easy clean up.” Keith offered, and Lance snorted, laughed, ran a hand through his hair and shot a hesitant but bright smile his way.

“Do you think it'll work? That people will come back?” He asked. Keith frowned, slumped back in the armchair with a grunt, and Lance’s eyebrows lowered in worry. “What?”

“That didn't sound like you.” Keith said plainly.

“Not like me?”

“Too insecure. Try that again.”

Lance laughed at that, sat up straighter. He put on his best, cocky grin and, with a flourish said, “Of course they'll come back. I mean look at me, I'm irresistible! They can't wait to see my show again, no one out there can deliver what they want like I can.”

Keith chuckled at that, grinning openly, and Lance’s dramatic pose softened a bit, his eyes meeting Keith’s. Keith tried to ignore the way the warmth in them almost bordered on affection, but he couldn’t ignore the way it crept into Lance’s voice when he spoke again.

“The uh, support is appreciated.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, but his gaze had locked on Keith, as if he couldn't look away. Keith could feel himself flushing under the weight of it, but he couldn't look away either. It felt like they were trapped in a bubble suddenly, just the two of them and nothing else. Everything around them receded into white noise and all Keith could pay attention to was Lance - Lance and Lance’s face and his expressive eyes and his smart mouth and that hair that Keith ached to run his fingers through and the line of his neck that Keith wanted to taste and he wanted so badly to just put his arms around the other man and hold on and never let go. 

Moments like that came, sometimes, unasked for and unexpected. Usually he could fight them back but right then he wanted to give in finally, to snap the tension within him and let it propel him those few feet to Lance’s side.

Lance spoke before he could move, however, his blue eyes glowing and his voice low.

“I have an idea.” He said slowly, as if he was still working out the words to say it with. “One that might pull a lot of people in.”

“What kind of idea?” Keith asked, realizing that he'd tilted forward toward Lance at some point, as if drawn to him like a magnet. He didn't move back.

“Sometimes people ask for some… extreme things, right? Weird things, or just really dangerous stuff...” Lance said, a tremor of excitement coloring his voice, “One of the things that gets asked a lot is - and stay with me here - an autopsy cut.”

Keith stiffened at the thought, “Not an actual…”

“No, just a surface cut like always you know?” Lance licked his lips, the glow in his eyes strengthening and Keith realized Lance wanted it. He really wanted it. “It's not that bad it's just, I've never done it because of the clean up. I mean you don't think about it but it's kind of hard to move around when you're all cut up, like your body knows it shouldn't be aggravating the cuts and you get all weirdly stiff…”

Lance breathed, eyelids fluttering as he seemed to try to grab a hold of his rambling.

“Anyways, I never did it because I was worried I wouldn't be able to patch myself up later,” Lance looked at Keith as he went on hesitantly, “I think… I think I can pull in a grand with this even, but….but I'll need help.”

“Help?” Keith asked, heart pounding in his chest. He thought, he  _ thought _ , he might know what Lance was talking about…

“After,” Lance clarified further. “With the clean up, the bandages. It's going to be hell to try to get all patched up from that kind of cut so, so I'll probably need an extra pair of hands, you know?”

“Oh…” Keith said, eyes widening. Lance wanted help with getting the cuts patched up. Lance wanted _his help_ getting patched up. The thought made Keith’s stomach flip, sent a hot bolt of nervousness shooting straight through him, followed by the prickling heat of anticipation, of _want_. No, not now, he thought, he needed to answer level-headed now, Lance was… Lance was _trusting_ him with this. But he couldn't help it, he was already thinking of being able to see the cuts, the blood, all in person, right in front of him. Thinking of how he’d be able to touch them - he’d _have_ to touch them if he was going to help. Fuck. He could feel his pulse racing and the fact that something as simple as that could get his heart racing was terrifying.

“I mean, you don’t... It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Lance said, laughing nervously, looking away from Keith for the first time in what felt like forever.

“I’ll do it.” Keith choked out,and Lance turned back to him with a sharp turn of his head, eyes wide. 

“What?” Lance asked, slightly breathless, but the grin was tugging at his lips, and Keith felt himself grinning back.

“I’ll help you.”

****  
-  
  


The apartment was  _ hot _ \- Lance had set the thermostat to eighty a couple hours earlier and by ten that night it was nice and toasty and Keith was sweating far more than he liked to. Lance apparently was unaffected by the rising temperature, hurrying to get things prepared for the show that night. Keith had helped him get the bedroom ready, first by changing the sheets to white (Lance had even gone out and bought a waterproof mattress cover to keep the mattress clean, just in case) and then moving the bedside cabinet out to the middle of the floor for the laptop. They set the laptop and webcam on top of it, positioned so Lance would be able to see the screen from the bed. It took some work to get the camera set up to focus on the bed correctly, and Lance fiddled with it for what felt like hours. (It wasn't hours, Keith was just growing impatient, the heat of the apartment making him irritable and the anticipation itching his skin). Then Lance had Keith bring in the standing lamps from the living room and set those up while he fiddled with the camera set up  _ again _ . Keith moved the lamps around to various places in the room while Lance directed him, the other man eyeing the fall of the light on the bed while he sat on it and muttering under his breath. Keith had had no idea setting up for the show took so much work. Couldn’t Lance just wing it? Just set it up and go, the lighting and the angles couldn’t matter that much… but then Keith thought of how nice the lighting looked on Lance’s show, how well it lit his curves and accentuated his muscles and how gorgeous the contrast of light and shadows was, and maybe he understood. At the very least, he did his best not to look irritated as fuck as he helped. It had been his idea in the first place, after all.

A bit after ten Lance had gone to take a shower, a  _ hot _ one that left the bathroom fogged up when he finished. Keith was on the couch by then, the TV set to the history channel. He'd been tempted to strip his sweaty t-shirt off but was holding out on that. He didn't really like walking around half naked, even if no one was going to see him, and he didn't want to ruin anything by going into the bathroom and looking for another shirt so he stayed put. 

“All right,” Lance said as he walked up to the couch, dressed in nothing but a cozy-looking baby blue robe. His hair was fluffed but still damp, his face was flushed, and he looked absolutely captivating. Keith tried hard not to stare but failed horribly.

“You ready?” He asked, because he needed Lance to stop standing there next to the couch and looking at him.

“Are you?” Lance asked with a smirk, leaning his hip against the armrest next to Keith and wiggling his eyebrows. Keith felt his cheeks go warm, and he frowned, turning to face his laptop instead.

“They're definitely ready.” He deflected. He'd already logged into  _ DarkSinCams _ and pulled up the BloodCam page. The feed wasn't up yet but the chat was already filled with chatter. It didn't move as quickly as when the show was on, to be sure, but the watcher count was already over a hundred and fifty.

“Fuck.” Lance sounded surprised. “I'm not starting for another half hour.”

“And you thought no one would be interested…” Keith said, eyeing Lance out of the corner of his eye. He looked pleased.

“Yeah, yeah, a momentary lapse.” Lance waved it off. “Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go prepare for my grand return.”

“You go do that,” Keith said, looking away from that cocky smile and those glittering eyes because if he didn't he would probably end up doing something stupid. He focused back on the screen and fought the flutter in his gut, the rising anticipation that wanted to make his heart start pounding even harder than it already was. “When do you want me to come in again?”

“Right after is fine,” Lance responded with a shrug. He pushed away from the couch and headed over to the bedroom. “Just don't get too excited and forget about me.”

_ As if I could ever forget about you _ , Keith thought.

“Go start the show already, your fans are getting antsy,” He said. Lance laughed and entered the bedroom, closing the door behind himself, and Keith was left with the laptop and his own thoughts.

That wasn't a good combination. 

The incentive bar at the bottom had been updated already, and Lance had stretched the last goal to a thousand dollars, marked it SURPRISE with several exclamation marks. He'd spent the past couple of days drumming up hype about the show, sending emails to his followers, reaching out personally to those he spoke with regularly, and even posting ad threads on various forums. He hadn't stated anywhere just  _ what _ he'd be doing for the grand finale that night, leaving that up to the collective imagination of his fans - part of the draw was the unknown, the anticipation of something unexpected, he'd told Keith. It was working. The show was scheduled to start at ten thirty that night (earlier than usual so they'd have time to clean up before Pidge returned from her meet up), yet the chat was already full of people wondering what was coming. 

Keith knew what it was, and still he felt the stomach-wriggling anticipation. He'd always get strong emotions about the show, the one thing that actually made him  _ really feel _ deep down to his core (at least, until Lance showed up in his life). Usually those emotions waited until the show was actually on before getting to the point of having him restless in his seat, but not that night. Lance was going to be cutting himself, all sensual grace and carnal lust, on Keith’s bed -  _ on Keith’s bed _ \- and Keith felt disgusting at the regretful thought that the waterproof covers would keep the blood off the mattress, that there wouldn't be even a single stain to remember that night by.

He was such a disgusting fuck, he couldn't believe himself.

There was still several minutes before the show started, so he dragged himself off of the couch and to the bathroom. It was humid and it smelled like passionfruit and coconut. He could almost taste the scent on his tongue when he breathed, and he wondered vaguely if Lance’s skin tasted like his body wash. 

Then he groaned, turned the cold tap on and splashed his face. The apartment was too hot and so was Lance and his stupid cam show. Pushing the hair out of his face, Keith headed back for the couch, turning off most of the lights and leaving only the bathroom lights and the low track lights in the kitchen on. He turned the TV off - he was far too restless to be able to focus on that - and sat back down on the couch. 

The feed was still off but it was almost eleven, and Keith knew Lance would be starting shortly. He'd mentioned the need for a few moments to get himself ready, but he didn't go into details and it wasn't like Keith to pry. He didn't know how long it would be before Lance was prepared, but he was about ready to claw the anticipation pooling thick and heavy within him out with his own two hands.

Mercifully the feed flickered on a moment later. The first second was a bit of a shock - Keith obviously recognized the bed and the sheets and the wall, even without the jet fighter poster and his usual bundle of blankets. He'd just gotten over that small jolt when Lance came into view, sitting down on the edge of the bed as casually as if he belonged thew. The light glinted off his gas mask, highlighted the muscles of his arms and the curve of his pecs, and Keith was breathless. Fuck, he hadn't seen Lance like this in so long - sometimes it felt like he'd forgotten it, forgotten that this was a thing Lance did. Forgotten that he could look like this.

“Hey everyone, did you miss me?” Lance asked, the modulator shifting his voice to just past unrecognizable. But Keith could still recognize the cadence, the way he spoke and the rhythm of his words. The knowledge that he was one of very few people who could say that… He wasn't sure how to describe how that made him feel. Pleased, for certain, but something else too. Whatever it was, it got him riled up, heated him up inside enough to rival the heat of the apartment. He knew the person behind the mask,  _ he knew Lance and they didn't _ , and it felt good. It felt very good.

Lance had begun talking again - Keith hadn't been paying attention all that well, far too focused on his careening thoughts and the way the light played across the lines of Lance’s body when he moved.

“- so what I was thinking was, it'll be business as usual until five hundred,” Lance leaned back on the bed, his long body stretched out and on full display. “And then I'll tell you all what the surprise is.”

A flurry in the chat, and Lance chuckled, low and deep in his throat. A shiver raced up Keith’s spine and he curled up in the corner of the couch, knees tucked tight against his chest. 

“Ah, of course I'm going to make you work for it,” Lance said teasingly, scooting back further on the bed, and suddenly it was apparent that all the work to set up the lighting and angles was  _ so worth it _ . Especially once Lance arranged himself properly - on his knees facing the camera, close enough to the wall so he could sat his back against it if had to - and took a knife up, twirling it in one hand effortlessly. He was lit so dynamically, so real and  _ living _ in that moment with the highlights and shadows as exquisitely defined as in a Caravaggio, the whirling blade dancing glimmers of light onto his skin and the wall behind him in turn. Perfection was a tall order but in that moment Keith was certain beyond a doubt that Lance achieved it. 

Lance brought the knife back around again, held it up delicately on the platter that was his hands as he presented it to the camera.

“Do we start with this?” He asked, voice sultry and  _ eager _ . Keith jerked for the keyboard before he could process the words properly, only just catching himself before his fingers hits the keys. Would it be weird, if he answered the question? If he entered the chat as usual - would it be all right?

He pulled himself away forcefully, regretfully, unwilling to find out right then. There were more than enough people in the chat to keep Lance occupied, anyways.

Instead, he focused on the knife. He recognized it easily - it was a slim blade, with a black molded handle and an edge that gave a nice, clean cut. Lance often started the shows off with it - Keith wondered if it was a favorite of his, wondered how long he'd had it. They'd never got to talking about Lance’s knives, even after Keith had shared his own collection with the other man. It felt like there was some sort of taboo, a line they weren't willing to cross just yet. Keith loved his collection, but there was something raw and personal about Lance’s, something that Keith couldn't touch with his own emotions. 

Lance hadn't even shown him the knives that day, even though he'd carried the case into the bedroom while Keith was in it. Keith hadn't pried, however, not after seeing the fond smile Lance wore when he gave the case one last lingering touch before moving on to setting up the rest of the room.

A consensus was reached - the incentive bar had tipped past $175 in record time. Lance leaned back a little, holding that black handled knife against the skin of his stomach, and -

\- and Keith couldn't watch. His heart was beating in his throat as he nearly threw himself off the couch and onto his feet. Lance’s near-reverent  _ oh fuuuuck _ followed him as he paced his way to the kitchen. He gripped his hair in his fingers, his breath coming far too fast and tried to stop - stop- stop thinking about how Lance was on the other room, how Lance was  _ cutting himself _ right now in the other room. There would be blood on the sheets and Keith wanted to - he wanted to - he wanted to but he couldn't. He shouldn't. He shouldn't be thinking these sorts of things, he shouldn't be feeling this way, Lance was his  _ friend _ , and...and fuck he liked him  _ so much _ and he shouldn't be…

Keith whimpered, thoughts whirling frightfully fast round his head. Reason was trying to break through them, trying to tell him that if Lance hadn't wanted him to watch he would've told him. If Lance hadn't wanted him to see he wouldn't have asked him to help him after. If Lance had been repulsed by Keith’s interest in the cutting, in the show, in any of it, he would've told him long ago. He wouldn't have come to live with him, and he certain as fuck wouldn't have jumped at this chance to hold a show in his apartment, in his  _ bedroom _ . 

He wouldn't have had that teasing, knowing look in his eyes when he'd asked Keith if he missed it.

Keith had missed it, the blood and the cutting and Lance’s exaggerated reactions, missed it so badly he was aching now, as if the very marrow of his bones was feeling the lack of it, feeling the pull of it now that the show was back on. He couldn’t fight the urge.

Conceding defeat, Keith headed back to the couch slowly. It was barely eleven thirty but things were moving quickly; by the time he'd sat himself back down Lance already had several cuts on his torso and the incentive bar was nearing three hundred. 

“Shit,” Keith breathed as he curled back up in the corner, his eyes caught on the sight of blood beading along the length of a cut on Lance’s chest, the droplets dripping achingly slow as Lance repositioned himself for a new angle. Keith bit his lip, wrapping his arms around his knees as if that would settle the roil of emotions in his gut, and watched as Lance dragged the edge of a serrated knife along his side, the teeth of it catching against his skin roughly. He laughed, the sound distorted slightly by the modulator, but he sounded happy. He sounded very happy, and Keith couldn’t help but grin as he continued to watch.

Lance announced the final incentive reward not much long after - “... and I've got a scalpel all nice and ready..” - and Keith had  _ never _ seen the chat move so fast. The scrolling lines became a blur, some people managing to write words while others seems to be smashing their keyboards in their excitement. Keith's pulse picked up, thundering in his ears as the incentive bar filled rapidly.

Lance was going to hit a grand. Shit. Lance was going to  _ go over _ a grand, there was no doubt about it. Keith's entice body thrummed with anticipation, he could barely sit still. 

The incentive bar crossed one thousand dollars.

It seemed to catch Lance off guard; for a moment he stilled, bloody blade still in hand, his head cocked endearingly as he very obviously watched the numbers keep rolling up.

“Well fuck,” he said, rolling the words out of his mouth in a drawl, “Aren’t you all eager tonight?”

Lance placed the knife he’d been using on the bed next to him, and Keith could see his hand trembling. He uncurled his knees, leaning towards the screen as Lance wiped his hands down his body, smoothing away some of the blood that had streaked his torso like he was cleaning paint off a canvas. 

“All right, you ready?” Lance asked, and now his voice was breathless, shuddery, and the chat fired up again. Keith felt the drop in his gut, vertigo but  _ welcome _ vertigo, as he watched Lance pick up a scalpel. It was so small in his hands, the blade tiny when compared to the ones before it - but the edge was sharp. So sharp. Keith had been there when Lance sharpened it, tested it on narrower and narrower strips of paper until the both of them had been amazed by how edge sliced through the thinnest strip.

And now Lance moved forward, sitting on the edge of the bed. He breathed deeply several times, raised the scalpel, and  _ cut _ .

It began just inside of his right shoulder, the blade sliding with frightening ease through Lance’s skin along the line of his collarbone. His hand didn’t shake; with one, long and slow movement he cut directly to a point on his sternum, right between his pecs. The blood followed at a second’s delay, the cut almost invisible until drops of crimson beaded along its length. Lance’s breath’s were audible though he didn’t speak, and he didn’t pause. Lifting the blade to a point just inside his left shoulder, he pressed in again and pulled down to meet the other cut at its lowest point. 

Keith was amazed with the precision he displayed, so stable and so exact. He knew Lance could see himself on the screen, he knew Lance had years of practice cutting like this, but he’d never expected to see this level of skill. It was like Lance had done it before, like he’d done it often enough to not even have to think about how to align the cuts or how to make them meet so perfectly. 

He couldn’t dwell on that thought long, however. The blood was welling up along the line of the cut, gathering at that single point between his pecs and beginning to drip slowly down the line of his torso. Lance reached up with his other hand then, held the skin where the two cuts met taut as he pressed the scalpel to his skin again. And when he cut - it looked for all the world like he’d taken a the tiniest of paintbrushes and pulled carmine red down from the point of the v, down down across his stomach, between his abs to stop just above his bellybutton. It wasn’t a paintbrush, however, and the red wasn’t paint - it was blood, live blood, and as Keith watched it beaded up all the more, forming an almost full line of ruby red along the length of all three cuts. The ones extending from Lance’s shoulders were dripping by then, several droplets leaving trails of darkening red across his pecs as they raced across his skin. 

Keith realized he was barely breathing, that he’d been holding his breath with each cut that Lance had made. There was too much for him to focus on - the warm glow of Lance’s skin, the streaks of rusty red where he’d wiped away the blood of earlier cuts, the scabbing droplets of blood on those cuts, the fresh blood welling up along the line of the newest. His mind felt overloaded, his entire body felt warm and weak and fuck, Lance wasn’t done yet. He wasn’t done yet, and already Keith wanted to have his hands on him, wanted to feel the warmth of his body and slickness of his blood and touch the edges of his cuts. He wanted to taste him and that was worse, god that was worse but he couldn’t fight against the urge that woke in him - the urge to hold Lance down, to press his lips against those cuts and lick the edges, taste the blood on his tongue.

Fuck, he was  _ fucked _ . He was wrong and he was horrible and he couldn’t look away when Lance cut again, drew another red line from above his bellybutton to the jut of his right hip, then mirrored it on the left. The scalpel blade gleamed like a ruby when he held it up, spreading his arms out to show off. Keith threw himself down on his stomach on the couch at that point and groaned into his arm, eyes focused unwaveringly on the screen. 

Lance set the scalpel down. Lance leaned towards the camera a bit. Lance pressed his hands on either side of his chest and  _ pulled _ \- and the cut widened a little and the blood rolled down the line of it and Keith was going to lose his fucking mind. He’d never felt so  _ on _ before, vibrating with pleasure and overflowing with… with.. Fuck. He’d never find a word to describe it. Never find a way to make sense of it. It was like he’d been starving forever and the best meal he’d ever eaten was right in front of him. It was like his body had been heavy and suddenly it was free of the weight, loose and free and limitless. 

It was fucking close to euphoric, is what it was.

Keith couldn’t watch anymore. He twisted around until he was facing the back cushions and pressed his face into them. He was overheated and sweaty but he didn’t feel bad, no, he felt good, he felt so fucking good and he knew he should feel bad about it because this was Lance and Lance  _ trusted _ him but he couldn’t help it. He’d missed the show and he’d missed seeing the cutting and he’d missed the way Lance moved when he was on, the way he acted on screen, full of dramatic flair and carnal lust and covered in blood, vulgar and beautiful. He’d missed it all. 

Keith barely noticed when the stream ended. It was the silence that got to him, the sudden lack of sound, and he jerked around to shoot a glance at the screen. A dark feed greeted him, the chat slowed to a near standstill.

Fuck. The show was over. Keith pushed himself up off the couch, hands trembling as he raked his fingers through his hair. Breathe in, breathe out - Lance needed him right now, him and not the disgusting mess of a person he was a minute ago. He had to get himself under control, get his horrible, horrible feelings and wants packed away again, shunted away before they got the best of him.

Forcing his brain to steady it's whirling, he headed for the bedroom. He knocked before opening the door, feeling horribly awkward, and stepped inside.

Lance was sitting on the edge of the bed, mask still on and head bowed. He was breathing heavily, Keith could see his chest flexing with each breath. The blood streaked across his body had dulled as it dried, but the autopsy cuts still glistened brightly with fresher droplets. Keith was staring. He knew he was staring, but he couldn't help it. He stepped closer, his throat catching at each breath, his eyes unable to look away from the cuts as his fingers twitched at his side.. Lance stirred finally, raising his head as Keith neared him. He reached up to pull at the straps of the gas mask, but his fingers kept slipping.

“Here, let me…” Keith muttered, standing next to him and reaching out himself. He loosened the straps gently, sliding them off as Lance tugged at the mask itself. His hair was wet with sweat and Keith wanted to run his fingers through it and feel the dampness on them, feel the heat of his scalp below them. He took the mask instead, laying it carefully on the bed beside Lance.

“Thanks.” Lance said, voice just shy of breathless. There was a drop of sweat rolling from his temple down the side of his face and Keith wanted to chase it with his lips. Lance looked up at him, lips quirking into a cocky grin, and asked, “What did you think?”

“That was… amazing.” Keith said, and he didn’t know where to look - at Lance’s face, at the cuts, at the blood streaked across his chest. He was all sorts of  _ everything _ inside, all mixed up with the warmth and the emotion, and fuck Lance looked gorgeous. He looked gorgeous and Keith said it, out loud, unable to stop the words from rolling off his tongue, “You look gorgeous.”

And something happened. It wasn’t anything physical, not anything visible, but  _ something happened _ . Lance was looking at him with something like… like awe, like desire, his pupils wide and a flush darkening his cheeks, his grin growing softer. Keith couldn’t look away, mesmerized by the play of the light in his eyes, lightening the cerulean tones of his irises. His heart was beating fast again, his brain buzzing with half-formed thoughts, directionless but he couldn’t care for once because Lance was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, filthy and cut up and breathtaking, and he was right there in front of him. Keith was right there with him. 

“Do you… do you want to touch…?” Lance asked suddenly, his voice low and deep with want, and Keith was  _ caught _ . He could feel it, deep in his bones, in the sinews, deep deep inside of him, he was swept up and there was no hope of breaking free - not when Lance was reaching for his hand, bloodied fingers touching his hesitantly.

“A...are you sure?” Keith asked, and Lance grinned up at him sweetly, nodding. Keith let his hand be taken, let Lance guide it up to his chest and lay it on the cut along his left clavicle. His skin was hot; Keith’s breath hitched, he could feel himself shudder. He pressed his fingers against the line of the cut, felt the edges against his fingertips. The blood was going tacky, and Keith was careful to be gentle as he traced the line of the cut down to the center of Lance’s chest. He could feel the other man’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t look at his face, couldn’t look away from where his hand rested on Lance’s chest. His fingertips were stained red already, a deep dark red, and he was getting lightheaded. He shouldn’t be doing this but he was, but Lance wanted it, but…

He sat down on the bed, unable to trust his shaky legs any longer. Lance twisted towards him, pressing against Keith’s palm insistently, and Keith couldn’t resist it. He played his hand up the cut again, then back down to Lance’s chest, and Lance  _ moaned _ , deep in his throat, Keith could feel the vibrations of it against his palm and he looked at Lance’s face then, at his hooded eyes and the way he bit his lip, and he grew bold - placed his other hand on Lance’s chest and traced the top cuts with his thumbs, watching Lance’s face all the while. The other man shuddered, grinning as he looked at Keith with eyes darkened by desire.

“Not bad, right?” Lance asked, sounding pleased and eager as he pressed into Keith’s hands again, and Keith obliged, running them down his chest and letting his fingers catch on the scabbing cuts.

“Like that?” Keith asked, feeling the slick heat of fresh blood welling up from the cuts under his fingers. He kept running his fingers over and over the cuts, the sensation of the skin parting beneath his fingertips surreal and enticing. He could feel Lance breath, he could feel his heartbeat when he traced the center cut back up his chest, strong and fast under his palms. 

“Fuck yes,” Lance breathed heavily, shifting on the bed and bracing an arm on the mattress as he leaned even closer to Keith. “Don’t stop.”

So Keith didn’t. The metal tang of blood was heavy in the air, the sound of their harried breathing filling the space between them, and he couldn’t stop touching Lance, couldn’t stop following the lines of the cuts, spreading the fresh blood across his skin and feeling it warm against his fingers and palms. He couldn’t believe what he was doing, he couldn’t believe he was there, in that moment, touching the man he’d grown so attracted to, feeling his wounds and getting his blood on his hands. He’d gone past euphoric by then, he was so far gone he was reaching another level of being, someplace where the emotions within him had stilled and he’d found peace and everything was etched in sharp relief and ten times more real.

His mind short-circuited somewhere out there, he could barely breathe from the weight of the reality he was in. His hands dropped lower along Lance’s torso as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the other man’s, let his eyes close and let himself just breathe. Lance’s breath stuttered at the contact, but he pressed his forehead into the touch almost immediately. Keith could feel Lance’s arm shift over to touch his side, a line of heat against him, and he grinned at the warmth, at the touch, at how close they were. He felt loose limbed and weightless, but not in a bad way, and he let his hands drop even lower.

“You’re hard again,” He said with a breathlessly as one hand brushed a little too low. Something inside him shuddered, pulled back from the contact with that realization.

“Sorry.” Lance’s breath was hot against his cheek, and he  _ did _ sound sorry. “I’m just a little sensitive to this.”

Keith’s hands hovered around Lance’s hips, the realization that  _ he _ was the reason Lance was hard again sobering him up somewhat. It was a bit of a shock to his senses; he’d been alone for long enough to forget how most people reacted to touches like this (not like  _ this _ but…). He swallowed thickly as guilt pooled inside him, knowing what came next, and kept his eyes closed to keep from looking as he offered hesitantly,

“Do you… do you want me to…” The words stuck in his throat, he couldn’t force them past his lips.

“What?” Lance sounded puzzled, and Keith tried again. 

“You know, do you want me to…” Fuck why was it so hard to say, he could say it. He’d said it before, to people he hadn’t liked half as much as he liked Lance, he could say it, he could do it, and he braced himself as he said, “Do you want me to get you off?”

And he’d do it, he’d do it because it was his fault, wasn’t it, that Lance was turned on again? It was only fair if he did. It was only right. He could do it, it wouldn’t be a problem, he just wouldn’t look and he’d be fine. Everything would be fine.

“No.” 

Lance wasn’t close to him anymore. Keith opened his eyes, lifted his head to find that Lance had pulled back and was staring at him wide eyed.

“It’s all right, I can do it.” Keith said firmly, but Lance grabbed ahold of his hands and pulled them away from his body. His grip wasn’t the strongest but Keith didn’t pull free.

“Keith,” Lance said, and his voice was soft, his eyes softer when Keith met them, and Keith didn’t understand that look and he didn’t understand why Lance wasn’t letting him take care of the situation. “Keith, you don’t have to do that.”

“Lance, I can-”

Lance didn’t let him finish. Instead he raised one of Keith’s hands to his lips, his eyes locked on Keith’s, and kissed his bloody fingers. The touch did something, broke something inside of Keith. He could feel it crumbling inside of him, and everything he felt for Lance came tumbling out of the hole it created, rushing through him to the tips of his fingers and toes and he wanted to cry all of a sudden, it came on so strong and sudden. He didn’t cry, because  _ he didn’t cry _ , even when Lance pulled closer a bit, looked him straight in the eyes and said,

“I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

And then Keith realized why Lance had stopped him, and the realization hit him  _ so hard _ \- because it wasn’t that Lance didn’t want him, and it wasn’t even that it was going too far, but it was Lance respecting his boundaries. Lance remembering he was ace. Lance catching himself even in a moment like this, when he’d just got done with his camshow and was obviously still so turned on. Lance keeping himself in check because… because...

Keith couldn’t take it anymore. It was all too much to hold in any longer - he might've been attracted before but this sudden realization had him tumbling down the slope  _ so fast _ and he couldn't catch himself - so he didn’t.

He kissed Lance, fervently, as if his life depended on it. He couldn't breathe anymore, he didn't want anything anymore than to be close to Lance, to feel him and know he was real and right there. He didn't know how to say it all, he didn't know how to thank him, how to let him know how much he appreciated everything he was, so he just kept kissing him instead. Lance kissed back, head tilted at a better angle, matching Keith’s fervor with his own - and Keith's heart felt like it would burst from beating so hard, he had to break away before he passed out from the emotions, the lack of breath, everything..

“I’m sorry,” He muttered as he pulled back, but Lance had an arm around his neck and didn’t let him get too far, his face still pressed close to Keith’s. He didn’t acknowledge Keith’s words either, went on to press a kiss to his cheek instead, his jawline, the touches jolting like lightning through Keith’s body. Lance sighed softly, kissed at the corner of Keith’s mouth and Keith turned to meet his lips again. This time the kiss was deeper, slower, and Keith melted under the feel of Lance’s tongue against his, the feel of Lance’s arm around his neck, and gave into the kiss so completely his senses became flooded with Lance and nothing else. His arms found their way around the other’s man’s body, pulled him closer until he could feel Lance’s heat against his chest.

“Still sorry?” Lance asked when they parted again, voice soft and low and Keith shuddered at the feel of Lance’s breath on his lips.

“We should get you cleaned up,” he said instead, dodging a question he wasn't quite sure how to answer as he struggled to calm his racing heart . Lance hummed, leaning in to press his face into Keith’s neck. He made no move to let go, only sighed contentedly, his breath tickling Keith’s skin. Keith rubbed his back and tried again, “You’ve bled a lot, we should get some bandages on you.”

“I’ve bled worse before.” Lance responded coyly, rubbing his nose against Keith’s neck, the movement sending shudders down Keith’s spine. Keith pressed his face against Lance’s hair and breathed, just for a moment. Then he pulled back and forced Lance’s head up to look at him. Lance frowned, eyes narrowing at him but Keith only said, “Your lips are going pale.” 

And they were. Keith was starting to worry now. Why hadn’t he thought of the blood loss before? What was he going to do if Lance went into shock or something? What if he needed to go to the ER, what the fuck would he tell the doctors?

“Fine.” Lance said with a deep sigh, rolling his eyes, as if Keith worrying about his well being was a horrible inconvenience. 

“Come on,” Keith said, pulling away from Lance to stand up. Lance took his offered hand and stood up next to him, and Keith could see that despite his insistence on being okay he was wobbly on his feet. Lance looped an arm around his shoulders, and Keith helped him make the way to the bathroom. 

“I need to rinse off a bit.” Lance said, and he climbed into the bathtub. Keith helped him set the water, then turned away when the shower turned on so Lance could have some privacy. They'd already prepared a couple of dark-colors towels, and Keith handed one over to Lance once he was done. The cuts on Lance’s chest were beading up with blood again as he sat down on the toilet seat, the towel wrapped low around his hips. 

“Butterfly closures first, right?” Keith asked, opening the medical kit. It was so ridiculously well stocked and organized, the bandages and suture tape and gauze pads arranged by type and size. 

“Yeah,” Lance said, his voice oddly airy, and when Keith looked over the noticed the drifting look in Lance’s eyes, like he wasn't quite able to focus on anything.

“You still with me?” He asked, concerned, and Lance grinned at him.

“I'm fine,” He said, “Just a little woozy maybe.” He motioned at his chest and continued, “Put them pretty close to each other, the cuts are long so…”

“Got it,” Keith affirmed, getting to work. It wasn't easy; the closures were all individually wrapped for sterility and he had to get each one out one by one. Placing them wasn't the easiest thing either, he had to put one end down on one side of the cut, then push the cut closed so he could stick the other end down. Each movement he made seems to squeeze more blood up out of the cuts, tiny droplets gathering and smearing his fingers red. Slowly he made his way down the length of the first cut over Lance’s left collarbone, heaving a breath after he finished and glancing up at Lance.

“You okay? I'm not hurting you, right?” He asked.

“You're funny,” Lance said, grinning fondly at him. Keith’s cheeks warmed, and he ducked his head back down to focus on the rest of the cut. It took a while, and Lance had to help him at some points, but Keith managed to get the larger cuts closed up without too much of a hassle. The smaller cuts were easier to patch up, needing far less of the butterfly closures to hold them closed.

“The autopsy cut was deeper than the others,” Keith noted as he gently wiped away the blood trails on Lance’s chest and stomach with a damp towel.

“That scalpel was fucking sharp,” Lance said, poking at the cut.

“That's why you bled so much,” Keith frowned, and Lance chuckled. Keith tried and failed to keep himself from thinking abit how he contributed to bleeding. If he hadn't gotten so into touching the cuts, into touching Lance, the cuts wouldn't have reopened and Lance would've lost less blood.

“I told you, I've bled out more before and I was fine,” Lance said with amusement, reaching out to brush a strand of hair off of Keith's face. The gesture was so casual, and Keith ached for it to be something normal, something that was easy between them. He looked up at Lance and Lance cocked a grin at him, eyes warm, and said, “Stop worrying.”

Keith snorted, wiping his hands on a towel and started on the process of taping gauze pads over the cuts. This part went by far faster, and soon enough he was finished. He eyed the patchwork of gauze on Lance’s torso critically for a moment, then stood up and stepped over to the sink, feeling Lance’s eye on him as he washed his hands.

“Do you need help getting dressed?” He asked over his shoulder, watching the water streak red as it poured over his fingers.

“I'll manage,” Lance replied. Keith turned the faucet off and wiped his hands on a towel as Lance reached for the loose-fitting clothes he'd left folded on top of the hamper earlier. 

“Are you sure?” Keith asked, because he could see how stiffly Lance moved, how slowly and carefully, but the other man rolled his eyes and shot him a look.

“Not my first rodeo, buddy,” Lance said, chuckling.

“Right,” Keith brushed his hair back out of his face, “I'll go clean up the room then.”

“Wait a minute, I'll help you…” Lance said, fumbling with the pair of pajama pants in his hands.

“Relax, take your time,” Keith said as he left the bathroom. “I'll take care of this.”

He stopped by the thermostat to turn the heat back down to a far more reasonable 69 degrees, then headed for the bedroom. The air inside was thick, the smell of blood and sweat cloying, he could almost taste it. He turned the lamps off first, leaving only the small lamp on the desk on. It was enough to see by, and that's all he really needed. He carefully closed the laptop and pushed the cabinet back into place next to his bed, then got started on the bed. 

The knives Lance had used were still laid out on the sheets, and Keith eyed then uncertainly. He didn't want to do something wrong with them, but he had to move them if he was going to get the bed clean. Debating a moment, he finally picked up the unused pillowcase that had come with the sheets and placed it on his desk. Then he carried the knives over, fighting back the giddy excitement that rushed through him at merely touching them. He wanted to hold them, actually hold them and feel them, but he placed them on the pillowcase instead and left them there, giving them one last lingering look as he headed back to the bed.

They'd agreed earlier that the sheets would get thrown out, so he pulled them off the mattress and balled them up. The blood was vivid on the white, already dried to a deep rust but still damp enough when he touched it to send a shiver across his skin. Forcing himself to breathe slowly and steadily, he pushed them into the waiting garbage bag. The waterproof cover needed to come off next. It was almost clean, only a few spots of dark red in places where the blood had seeped through, so Keith folded it and set it on the floor to wash the next day.

“You need any help?”

Keith turned to find Lance standing in the doorway, looking slightly off kilter. He'd put on the pants and a loose t-shirt, but even clothed Keith could see him shivering despite the warmth in the apartment.

“I got this. Go sit down for a bit, there're blankets on the couch.” Keith said, sternly because Lance looked ready to come inside the room.

“I can help if you need me to,” Lance said, a determined frown on his face.

“Go.” Keith said, pointing at the living room, and Lance sighed, muttering a sullen “fine” as he turned back around and left.

Keith watched him to make sure he sat down, and only then continued with the room. He lifted the blinds a little and opened one of the windows to let some fresh air in, wincing at the sudden burst of chill night air. The room needed to be aired out though, so he left it open and got to work on the bed again. His extra sheets were in his closet and he pawed through them until he came up with a bright blue fitted sheet. It seemed appropriate, he thought, remembering the deep blue of the walls in Lance’s bedroom. He got it on the mattress and arranged the pillows at the head, then proceeded to pick through the blankets and quilts he had folded and piled onto his desk chair. He spread several onto the bed in layers, some lighter and some heavier, then folded them back. Pleased with his work, he headed out of the bedroom to get Lance.

The other man had lain down on his back on the couch by that point, his head propped on one of the decorative pillows and a blanket pulled over him. Keith wasn't sure if he'd dozed off or not, but he wasn't going to let Lance sleep on the couch, not that night at least. It was uncomfortable enough without injuries, Keith knew from experience, and Lance needed rest, not to be constantly shifting in position because the cushions were lumpy. 

“Hey,” Keith said, crouching down beside the couch and touching a hand to Lance’s shoulder. Lance shifted under his touch, turning his head to look at him.

“Hey,” Lance said, he still sounded wide awake. “You going to sleep?”

“Yeah, but first you're moving to the bed.” Keith said. “Come on.”

“What?” Lance frowned at him, puzzled.

“I'm not letting you sleep out here,” Keith said, “So come on, get up.”

“Keith,” Lance said slowly, as if he were mulling the words over before speaking them. “That's your bed.”

“Yeah, I know, and tonight I'm letting you sleep in it.”

Lance blinked slowly, his forehead furrowed, “But I can sleep on the couch.”

Keith sighed, “Lance, you're not sleeping here. Now come on.”

“But I don't want to move-”

“Are seriously arguing with me right now?” Keith groaned.

“I just got comfortable.”

“You'll be more comfortable on an actual mattress.”

“You don't know that.”

“I can't fucking believe this-”

“Go to sleep okay I'm  _ fine _ .”

Keith stood up, breathing heavily through his nose as he tried to get a grip on his irritation, and ran his fingers through his hair. Lance eyed him sullenly.

“Okay.” Keith said, spreading his hands - and then he pulled the blanket right off of Lance. 

“What the fuck man-” Lance winced as he reflexively reached after the blanket, but Keith tossed it behind the couch and out of his reach.

“Keith, you jerk!” Lance glared at him, sitting up gingerly.

“There we go, now do you need me to carry you or can you walk?” Keith asked, hands on his hips. 

“Oh my fucking  _ god _ ,” Lance grumbled, pushing Keith out of the way so he could stand. “I'll walk. Fuck. Why are you like this?”

Keith followed close behind as Lance made his way into the bedroom, complaining all the way.

“You're so cruel,” Lance groaned as he finally reached the bed, sitting down. He pouted up at Keith, lips jutting like a little kids.

“Yeah, obviously  _ I'm _ the bad guy for wanting to make sure you actually get some sleep tonight.” Keith muttered, hands on his hips again.

“Obviously,” Lance huffed, finally laying down He didn't complain when Keith helped him pull the covers up, however, though he did shoot him a dirty look. Keith shot one right back.

“Good now?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Lance said with a nod, the expression on his face softening as he looked up at Keith. “Thanks...for you know, all of this. For helping.”

Keith shrugged in response, unsure of how to answer that. Of course? Any time? It was fun? Oh fuck, not that for sure. 

“Get some rest,” He said finally, a grin easing onto his face. Lance was still looking at him, his fingers playing with the edge of the top blanket.

“Yeah, you should too,” He said after a moment. Keith wasn’t sure, but there was something off in his voice, something that kept him standing there instead of leaving.

“Are you okay?” He asked after a moment. Lance looked away then, up at the ceiling, but he grinned as he answered,

“I'm fine.”

Keith realized that he'd heard that word so often from him since they’d met, and so many times  _ that night _ , always so insistent and confident. It was probably true most of the time, but right then he saw the way Lance’s fingers ran along the edge of the blanket, repetitively and insistently. He remembered that far-away look he'd had for a moment in the bathroom, the way he had shivered when he'd stood in the doorway. And even now, Lance's eyes were far too wide, flickering along the expanse of the ceiling even though there was nothing up there but shadows. It left him unsettled, left him feeling oddly awkward and uncertain, because he was certain that Lance wasn’t fine, not right then and there. 

Oh, he was sure Lance  _ believed _ he was fine - hadn't he said it, all the way back they'd met, when Keith had gone over in the middle of the night to bring him back home with him? How he wasn't always in the best state of mind after a show? It was probably normal for him, he’d probably gotten used to it.

“You're still here?” Lance asked, his voice wavering a miniscule amount, but enough for Keith to notice.

“Yeah,” Keith said, and Lance's eyes turned towards him again, still wide. He was grinning at him, but Keith could see his lips shaking even in the dim lighting, and Keith couldn't leave. He couldn't leave him alone. “Do you want me to sit with you a bit?”

“Pft, no.” Lance said, but his voice wasn't convincing. So Keith sat down gently on the edge of the bed.

“You don't need to,” Lance muttered, even as he shifted over to make more room for him. Keith sat closer to the headboard, legs stretched out next to Lance. 

“It was kind of intense,” He said softly, the memory tingling in his fingertips. 

“Yeah,” Lance answered, and whatever pretense he'd been holding onto was gone - his voice was strained, like he was trying to hold something back. Keith looked down at him, and Lance looked up at him, his face darkens by shadows but Keith could tell his was searching for something. Silently, he held out his hand, and Lance reached for it without hesitation, trembling fingers clutching at his.

“You don't have to sit with me,” Lance said, but his voice was cracking and his hand gripped Keith's like a lifeline.

“Yeah,” Keith agreed, but sat there anyway, running his thumb gently over Lance’s knuckles. They stayed like that for a while, a quiet descending softly around them. Lance’s grip on Keith’s hand strengthened and loosened like a pulse. Keith watched his face from the corner of his eye, watched his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. 

“Is it…” Keith ventured after a long moment, voice barely above a whisper. “Is it like a, a  _ drop _ ?”

Lance’s hand tightened again around his, and his eyes met Keith’s. He bit his lip, gave a tiny nod.

“It’s… it’s not always like this, though.” He said, a grin spreading across his face. “So don’t worry.”

“What would you usually do?” Keith asked. Lance licked his lips, eyes flickering back to the ceiling.

“Count the stars…” He breathed. 

Keith didn’t know what to say to that. All he could do was squeeze Lance’s hand slightly, ask hesitantly, “Does this help?” 

Lance stayed quiet as he shifted again, pulling Keith’s hand to his chest and pressing his head against Keith’s side. He sighed softly, and Keith grinned, heart fluttering in his chest. That was answer enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go on, think about Lance coming down counting stars. Laying there on the mattress and trembling with the drop and waiting for the firm stability to come back to his shuddering senses. Think of how many times he found solace in those stars on his ceiling, think of how many times they helped pull him out of the lowest lows when nothing else did. Think of how many times they didn’t.  
> And think of how Keith understands all of that, subconsciously and deeply in a way he wouldn’t be able to phrase in words. Think of how he doesn’t know the drop but he knows the feeling of weightlessness that comes after you’ve given your all, after you’ve given so much of yourself that at the end of the day you don’t know where you’ve left yourself behind. How it feels to lay down on the mattress and still feel like you’re falling even when you feel its support at your back.
> 
> ~~~~~
> 
> Please let me know what you think and leave a comment! I love hearing from all of you!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here! I think we'll officially be on a bi-weekly schedule so I don't burn out.  
> Thanks for all your wonderful reviews! I love you all I really hope you know that, your kudos and comments and visits mean a lot to me!
> 
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> 
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> 
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> 
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Did it count as sleep if he didn't remember sleeping and still felt worn out as fuck when he woke up? Keith rubbed the grit out of his eyes and sat up slowly, trying to get his brain back to firing on all cylinders again. The sun was slanting through the living room blinds, and he stated at the rectangles of light on the floor for a long while as he attempted to focus his mind on… well, anything. The first thought he had was about his motorcycle, for some reason. The engine was still shot and he was still unable to pay for a new one. The whole situation had been pissing him off so much that lately he'd just shoved it aside and ignored it, but there it was at the front of his mind again. He grimaced, forcing his mind onto less annoying trains of thought. 

That, of course, led to thoughts of the night before. Less annoying, to be sure, but there was a twist in his gut when he remembered…he'd actually… Keith’s gaze dropped to his hands. They looked normal, completely unaffected, though his fingers tingled when he thought about… He bit his lip, looking them over front to back but he'd scrubbed them far too well and no trace of blood was left. The memory was still there, though, and even as he cringed at the thought he couldn't hold back the warmth that bubbled within him, the feeling of  _ right _ that permeated through it, as if he'd finally found something that… something that… he didn't know what. Something that made him feel good, but it was more than that. It wasn't just feeling the...the cuts, it wasn't just feeling the blood - it was Lance, it was knowing that Lance trusted him so much, that Lance wanted him.

And Lance  _ wanted him,  _ he couldn't deny what he'd seen in the other man's eyes the night before, couldn't deny the way Lance had clung to him when they were close. Keith tried to tell himself it was because of the whole situation, emotions running high and all that crap, but it was a weak argument. Lance wanted Keith, and yet he hadn't pushed him when given the chance. That fact still had Keith reeling; he'd had partners before who'd at least tried to respect his boundaries, who'd skirted around the issue at hand at least for a little while, but never any like Lance. Maybe, just maybe, Keith had to reevaluate his mental image of Lance. He'd marked him as irrepressibly sexual from the get go, before he'd even gotten to know him - he'd assumed the lusty sexual person on-screen was always there, only hidden behind whatever persona Lance adopted when he wasn't performing. He hadn't been allowing himself to see Lance as he was, a multi-faceted person, three-dimensional person. He hadn't been allowing himself to accept that Lance had depth, that he was caring, perceptive, aiming to be helpful in his own way, even with all the evidence in front of him. Lance was sexual, sex should be a certainty, but Keith was only just realizing how it wasn't, how Lance hadn't brought anything up at all since he'd moved into the apartment, how other than some joking innuendos he'd shared with Pidge, he hadn't broached the subject at all. 

Keith didn't want to think that Lance had done it out of some respect towards him but he thought so anyways, because it was a good feeling, a happy feeling he wanted to clutch tight and never let go. 

Fuck, he wanted to run. The revelations of that morning had energy coursing through him already, even as the last dregs of drowsiness slogged around his head. He wanted to get out and run and just think about nothing but how, in this single moment, life was actually good.

So he got up, stretched to get the kinks out of his back (how the hell Lance was surviving sleeping on the couch for so long Keith didn't know) and headed for his room to get some clothes. He opened the door slowly, thankful that the hinges didn't squeak, and peeked inside. Lance lay silent and unmoving on the bed, and even after staring at him for a while Keith couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not - there were just too many blankets in the way. Why had he given Lance so many blankets? Frowning, he quietly walked over to the bed. From there he could see that Lance was, in fact, breathing normally. That should have been enough, but he couldn’t help himself - he reached out and touched Lance’s forehead gently. He just wanted to make sure Lance was warm, that was all. He was being… considerate or something. No, that wasn’t the word. Whatever, that wasn’t creepy, he wasn’t being creepy in the slightest. 

And yet, he found his cheeks warming as embarrassment hit him. Slowly, he backed away from the bed, eyeing Lance. He hadn’t moved, not when Keith had entered and not even when Keith had touched him, and that was perfectly fine with Keith. As quietly as he could, he headed for his closet and pulled out a running shirt and pants, then grabbed a pair of boxers and socks from his dresser. Glancing over at Lance one last time to make sure he hadn’t woken him - he hadn’t - Keith left the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind himself.

 

-

He’d run too much again, Keith could feel it in the way his muscles quivered like Jello and the way his lungs still burned even after a cool down and a slow walk back to the apartment. It didn’t matter to him much, not right then, because at least this time it wasn’t a  _ bad _ run. He wasn't running to forget anything, he was running because he was so energized it was the only thing he could think of doing. Still, running himself into exhaustion after waking up feeling absolutely worn out hadn’t been the best idea. His legs protested every step he took on his way up to the apartment - and there were  _ so many steps _ .

He reached the door only slightly winded, and after a moment to catch his breath opened it and stepped inside. The sound of Pidge and Lance arguing over something reached him as soon as he did. Cautiously he headed towards the living room and took stock of the situation. The TV was on, playing some nature program at a low volume. Lance was perched on a barstool, leaning back against the pass through counter and waving a hand animatedly as he said something about warp drives. Pidge was seated on her armchair, laptop on her knees and her brows furrowed as she frowned at Lance, head shaking in disagreement. They both seemed to notice Keith at the same moment.

“Keith!” Lance exclaimed the moment he saw him, grin bursting wide on his face though he still had a calculating look in his eyes. He waved his hand towards Pidge and said, “Tell Pidge - tell her - that she is wrong.”

Keith looked at Pidge, who was shooting him a pointed look, mouth turned into a sharp frown. Then he looked back at Lance, who’d by that point twisted so he could prop an elbow on the counter and put his chin in his hand, still grinning.

“Wrong about what?” Keith asked warily, trying to calculate whether it was worth getting involved or not.

“It doesn't matter,” Lance said dismissively, “She just is.”

Keith looked at Pidge again, still frowning at him, then back at Lance who looked to be brimming in confidence. Then back at Pidge, who was now practically glaring at him. Then back at Lance, who was still grinning at him.

“Uh, you're...you're wrong?” Keith said slowly, looking over at Pidge with a puzzled look. Pidge gasped in shock as Lance laughed triumphantly.

“I TOLD YOU!” Lance exclaimed happily, twisting sharply to point at Pidge. He winced as soon as he’d done it, leaning back against the counter gingerly. The grin was still on his face, however, as he finished weakly, “Even Keith agrees.”

“How dare you,” Pidge hissed at Keith, “I thought we were friends.”

“What did I…” Keith started, then stopped himself. He took a breath and ran his fingers through his sweat damp hair.  “No, never mind. I don't want to know.”

“You’re an ass, Keith.” Pidge muttered, turning back to her laptop, pouting. Lance looked over at Keith, a pleased grin on his face. Keith didn’t have to look at him to tell that Lance gave him a once over, he could practically feel the other man’s eyes on him. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the corner of the dividing wall.

“How’re you doing?” Keith asked, eyeing Lance critically. He was still dressed in the tee and pants that he'd put in the night before, his hair was rumpled, and despite his exuberance Keith could see he looked tired. 

“I'm just fine Running Man, how about you?” Lance replied with a wink, though his grin had gone softer as he’d met Keith’s eyes. It was ridiculous how something that simple could stutter Keith’s heart, but it did. Ignoring the flutter in his chest, Keith cocked an eyebrow and asked,

“Book or movie?”

“Uh, book obviously?” Lance replied, “The movie has its merits, but it does away with so much of the message it’s practically pointless. The book is far superior.”

“Good answer.” Keith said. For some reason he was finding it really, really difficult to look away from Lance. Probably because he looked absolutely fucking adorable, with his mussed up hair and his crooked grin and the hint of anticipation in his eyes. It was about that time when Keith realized he was grinning too, and well. Fuck. He cleared his throat, finally dragging his eyes away from Lance. “I’m gonna hit the shower.”

He should probably drink something first, he hadn’t taken a water bottle with him that morning and he could only hog the water fountain at the park for so long, but he felt absolutely gross. Sighing, he went to his bedroom to get some regular clothes, and headed for the bathroom.

He stepped inside bathroom, and barely had time to close the door behind him before his phone started buzzing in his pocket. Tossing his change of clothes onto the floor, he pulled it out to find a text from Pidge. She was in the other room, why was she texting hm? Puzzled, he swiped the phone on.

 

GreenMachine (10.15am): okay what happened

Keefer (10.16am): what do you mean

GreenMachine (10.16am): Something happened last night

Keefer (10.16am): Lance had his show

Keefer (10.17am): but u knew that

GreenMachine (10.17am): I obviously mean something other than that

Keefer (10.18am): okay so what do u think happened bc i’m lost

GreenMachine (10.18am): oh come on Keith

GreenMachine (10.18am): I'm not blind

GreenMachine (10.18am: and u 2 are so fuckign obvious its gag worthy

 

Obvious?  _ Obvious _ ? Keith scowled down at his phone.

 

Keefer (10.19am): right

Keefer (10.19am): I'm getting in the shower now so

GreenMachine  (10.20am): is it happening

GreenMachine (10.20am): kleith is it happening

Keefer (10.21am): dont know what ur talking about

GreenMachine (10.21am): KEEF !!

GreenMachine  (10.22am): OMG ITS HAPPENING

 

Keith tossed his phone onto the sink counter, biting his lip against the giddy rush inside him. He was not going to freak out, he was not going to let this whole… mutual attraction thing make him a mess. No. Not at all. Stripping out of his sweaty clothes, he took his shower and tried not to think about how Lance had smiled when he’d seen him that morning, tried not to think about how Lance looked at him the night before, tried not to think about the kiss - and failed on every count.

By the time he got dressed he was absolutely flustered and low key sick with the giddiness and anticipation of what would come. Ready to leave the bathroom, he noticed a tube of what looked like cream laying on the countertop right next to the wall. It was about half the size of a tube of toothpaste, and the name on the front sounded medical. He grabbed it as he left and headed for the living room. Pidge was tapping away at her laptop, a severely focused expression on her face, and Lance was still perched on the barstool. He was watching the TV with a dazed look on his face, one hand gently stroking his stomach. Keith stepped up to him, leaning back against the counter and holding the tube of cream towards him. Lance noticed him after a moment, and looked down at the cream curiously.

“Is this yours?” Keith asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Lance took the tube from Keith. “Thanks man.”

“What is it?” Keith asked, folding his arms.

“It’s a post-surgical cream designed to speed wound healing.” Lance said, “Can’t put it on fresh wounds though so I always wait until the day after to use it.”

“Where do you get it?” Keith asked.

“I know a nurse practitioner who knows a doctor who’s willing to prescribe it,” Lance responded with a cheeky grin at him.

“Do they know why they’re prescribing it?” Keith asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope.” Lance said cheerfully. He still looked a little out of it, getting distracted momentarily from their conversation by a burst of noise from the TV. Keith waited, and after a long moment Lance turned back to him, looking puzzled. “Uh, sorry…”

Keith gave him a critical look, and said with a sigh, “You should go back to bed.”

“Ugh,” Lance groaned, “I don’t want to.”

“Go.” Keith said, giving him a stern look. Lance glared back at him, mouth set in a pout, but got off the barstool. He still moved stiffly, and it was obvious he was still in some pain with how he winced at the first step. 

“Fine. I’m going.” Keith watched him go, ignoring the snickers coming from Pidge.

  
  


The rest of saturday passed so well Keith was certain that he must’ve passed out and dreamed most of it. At one point he'd sat down to watch some sort of crime documentary and Lance had joined him, complaining about how lying around all day was boring and the lack of stimulation was killing his brain cells. He'd plopped himself down on the couch right next to Keith, shoulder to shoulder and side to side. That alone was exciting enough, even if Keith had stiffened slightly at the touch. A few minutes later Lance’s head had dropped to Keith’s shoulder, making his skin prickle, but in a good way. By that point he was nearly entirely engrossed in paying attention to what Lance was doing instead of watching the show, but even so it took him a few more minutes to realize that Lance had fallen asleep. Right there on his shoulder. Keith shifted slightly, letting Lance’s head settle into a more comfortable position, and tried to keep from letting the whirlwind in his chest get the better of him. By the time the documentary had ended and Lance had woken up Keith had somehow managed to get his screaming emotions back in place and come to terms with the fact that  _ this _ was something that was going to be a thing. The...the casual touching. The closeness. Was it supposed to be this casual and easy so soon? He didn’t know, but he found he didn’t care. Lance was obviously comfortable enough invading his personal space, and Keith wasn’t going deny the fact that it made him feel so good and so  _ happy _ .

Fuck, it had been way too long since he’d had anyone to be so close and casual with, to be so comfortable with, he felt like he had to relearn the whole relationship thing from scratch. Like he was some middle schooler, getting giddy when their crush held their hand at the bus stop. Fuck. He’d had enough relationships that this shouldn’t be so foreign to him. He’d mentally berated himself over the whole thing while Lance napped on his shoulder, firmly told himself to get a fucking grip on himself he was fucking twenty four years old and old enough to deal with the whole situation in a grown up manner, and made peace with the fact that Lance would probably be invading his personal space more often in the near future. He would be prepared for it now.

  
  


The flirting, however, absolutely and completely blindsided him. He'd forgotten the fact that Lance was made up of roughly 80% horrible (though occasionally funny) flirtatious puns, and that the full force of them could now be directed at  _ him. _ Somehow that had escaped him, and when Lance had angled the first at him on Saturday he was so surprised he'd been almost too flustered to answer.

The three of them had been sitting on the couch talking over dinner and had for some reason gotten into the topic of the stray cats Lance was still feeding behind the building when Lance suddenly locked eyes with Keith, a playful grin on his face, and said,

“You know, if I was a cat, I'd wanna spend all nine lives with you.”

Keith could only stare blankly at Lance, his brain screeching to a halt at the realization that Lance had directed one of his pun-laced one liners at him. If he had been waiting for a blatant sign of Lance’s interest in him, there it was in glaring, flashing neon. Keith felt his cheeks heat up, the flush of warmth within him far beyond his ability to control, and opened his mouth to stammer out a rushed, “But you're not a cat.”

Pidge choked on her spaghetti, though it sounded suspiciously like a laugh, but Keith couldn't look at her. He was far more focused on the fact that Lance’s grin had turned into a smirk, and a mischievous look had come to his eyes. He braced himself, just in case, but Lance only leaned back against the couch with a pleased look on his face.

“I'd make a damned fine cat, though,” He’d said as he turned back to his dinner, leaving Keith feeling like he was floundering in the deep end. All the rest of the day he was tense, waiting for some sort of flirtatious pun to be shot his way, but none came.

 

Sunday, however.  _ Sunday _ . Sunday was something completely different, and made it obvious that Lance’s cat-quip was only the very mild tip of the iceberg. 

Keith had assumed that, as usual, he’d bumble his way through eight hours of mind-numbing work and go home and crash for a few hours before he’d drag himself out of bed to eat something. But no, there he was at six thirty in the morning, staring at his phone because  _ someone _ apparently couldn’t sleep.

 

CouchTroll (06.36am): morning sunshine

CouchTroll (06.36am): :)

Keefer (06.37am): shouldnt u be asleep

CouchTroll (06.37am): ouch ur not a morning person r u?

Keefer (06.38am): you just figured that out?

Keefer (06.38am): good morning i guess

CouchTroll (06.39am): ur killing me here

Keefer (06.39am): why are you up anyways

CouchTroll (06.40am): because a wonderful person who cares about my well being

CouchTroll (06.41am): forced me to sleep all day yesterday

Keefer (06.42am): it’s not forcing you if you pass out without assistance

CouchTroll (06.42am): FORCED ME TO SLEEP ALL DAY YESTERDAY

CouchTroll (06.43am): i am so awake right now I think I can feel my skin breathing

CouchTroll (06.43am): so entertain me before I go crazy

Keefer (06.44am): no

Keefer (06.44am): im working

CouchTroll (06.45am): don’t u always complain about sundays being boring 

Keefer (06.45am): nope

CouchTroll (06.46am): yeah u do

CouchTroll (06.47am): fine ill entertain u then

Keefer (06.48am): ugh

CouchTroll (06.48am): u reap what u sow

CouchTroll (06.48am): buddy

CouchTroll (06.48am): 8D

 

What followed was the most embarrassing collection of cheesy flirts Keith had ever been subjected to - which might not have been saying much, but  _ still. _

 

CouchTroll (07.01am): i tried to go back to sleep but i can’t stop thinking about you

 

CouchTroll (07.10am): if u were a vegetable u’d be a cute-cumber

 

CouchTroll (07.23am): do you know any cardiologists?

CouchTroll (07.23am): my hearts doing this weird thing where it skips a beat each time i think of you

CouchTroll (07.23am): should probably get that checked out

 

CouchTroll (07.30am): (image of a cutesy kitty with the words “i think you’re PAWSOME”)

 

CouchTroll (07.32am): if i had eight arms like an octpous i’d hug you with all of them

 

CouchTroll (07.35am): u know sundays are 4 snuggling right   
CouchTroll (07.35am): don’t say i didn’t give u fair warning

 

CouchTroll (07.41am): did u sit in sugar? Cuz you’ve got a pretty sweet ass

 

Keith couldn't take it. Every time his phone buzzed his face flushed before he could even glance at it.  He was getting so distracted by Lance his call time performance was slipping. Fuck, Sunday might've been slow but he still had work to do. His phone buzzed again and he let out a flustered groan, covering his face with his hands.

 

CouchTroll (07.55am): baby if you were a fruit you’d be a FINEapple

Keefer (07.56am): don't u have anything better to do?

CouchTroll (07.56am): other than bug u? nope

 

Keith didn't reply, shoving the phone away from himself and focusing back on his work. It was long time before Lance texted again, and Keith had almost thought he’d finally gone back to sleep, or started doing something else.

 

CouchTroll (8.20am): just, question

CouchTroll (08.20am): I read things right right

 

Keith chewed his lip for minute, staring down at the words on the screen. Fuck. There it was, that tremulous shot of anticipation shuddering him inside and out, because this was it right - this was  _ it _ . He breathed deep, and typed out a response.

 

Keefer (08.22am): yeah

 

Okay. That was a bit anticlimactic. Lance’s response came immediately after, as if he’d been waiting for Keith to text him back.

 

CouchTroll (8.22am): good

CouchTroll (08.23am): that’s good

CouchTroll (08.23am): okay 

CouchTroll (08.24am): do you wanna talk about it?   


 

Fuck. Did he? If Keith had allowed himself to make a noise, it would’ve been a whimper, but he didn’t. Instead he typed a response back and hoped for the best.

 

Keefer (08.24am): no

Keefer (08.25am): i mean if u want to i guess

CouchTroll (08.25am): it’s cool

CouchTroll (08.26am): u and feelings are rough buddies I get it

CouchTroll (08.27am): business as usual then ;)

 

Keith wasn’t sure what Lance meant with that, or with that winking smiley face, but he settled down a bit. He didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t want to try and make sense of it, or talk about whether they felt the same way  _ for real _ or… or… he just didn’t. He didn’t want to think about tomorrow or about whether this  _ thing _ was an actual  _ thing _ and if it would go somewhere. He just wanted to live it, experience it while it was still something good.

 

CouchTroll (08.30am): so tell me

CouchTroll (08.30am): are u an alien???

CouchTroll (08.31am): cuz ur OUTTA THIS WORLD

 

Relatively speaking. Keith groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. Only six more hours to go...

 

-

  
  


Pidge was at the pass through when Keith got back that day, Lance in the kitchen gathering ingredients on the counter. Keith barely had a moment to say “hey” before Pidge was scurrying away like a frightened mouse.

“Oh good, you’re back,” She said, brushing past him, “ _ You _ can deal with him now.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?!” Lance shot an indignant look as she disappeared into her room. He turned his eyes to Keith then, cocky grin spreading across his face. 

“Hey stranger,” Lance greeted, leaning casually against the counter. “So, how was your day.”

“All right, I guess,” Keith answered, a flutter rising in his stomach now that Lance was in front of him, looking at him with an excited twinkle in his eye. He beat down that flutter forcefully, attempting to affect a nonchalant tone as he continued, “Except this weird guy kept sending me all these flirty texts.”

“Ugh, sounds absolutely horrible,” Lance said in mock disgust as he rolled his eyes, his grin never slipping, and Keith realized he was grinning by that point as well. 

“So tell me, were you going off of a list or something?” He said, his mind skipping back to some of the lines Lance had sent. He hoped his face didn't betray his emotions, even as he felt his cheeks grow warmer.

“Uh, no,” Lance scoffed in reply, dodging his eyes away from Keith.

“Mental lists are still lists, Lance.” Keith said, eyebrow raised, and Lance stuck his tongue out at him. Keith rolled his eyes pulling his jacket off.  He tossed it towards the coat rack by the door and had the satisfaction of seeing it catch on a hook immediately. Grinning to himself, he turned back to Lance only to find him giving him an amused if somewhat miffed look.

“What?” Keith asked, and Lance crossed his arms.

“On the first try, really?” He said, and Keith shrugged. 

“It's all in the wrist.” Keith replied, and Lance snorted. He continued looking at Keith in an oddly soft sort of way and Keith shifted under his gaze, asking again, “What?”

“Nothing, just,” And Lance grinned, looking a little sheepish as he reached out to give a little tug on Keith's hoodie.”Red is definitely your color.”

Keith felt his face flush at the compliment. He didn’t know what to say to that, but when he looked back at Lance something caught his eye.

“Did you cut your hair?” Keith asked, thankful to find some way to turn the conversation away from himself.

“Uh, yeah, I was kind of jittery today so I thought what the hell, went down to the place in the strip mall by the Starbucks,” Lance said with a shrug, running his hand over the short hair at the back of his head. His grin dropped when he saw Keith’s expression, and he asked hesitantly. “You don’t like it?”

“What? No, it looks good,” Keith said, realizing suddenly that he was frowning. He’d remembered what he’d said the few weeks before about pulling off longer hair, and he seriously hoped that Lance hadn’t taken that to heart. Not that he didn’t look good with shorter hair - he did, and to be completely honest Keith’s fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and touch it. Keith gave Lance what he hoped was an encouraging grin to make up for the frown. It seems to work, the worry easing off of the other man’s face as their eyes met.

“Yeah?” Lance asked, grinning again. “I wasn’t sure, you know? The girl cut it short in the front too and I’ve got a big forehead so…”

“Your forehead’s fine,” Keith said with a snort, still grinning. “It’s a perfectly fine size.”

“You think so?” Lance asked, looking skeptical.

“Yeah, and besides you need all that room with how your eyebrows go all over the place when you change expressions,” Keith said, and this time he was granted the satisfying sight of Lance blushing, his cheeks darkening as he shot Keith a dirty look.

“Oh my god, shut up,” Lance huffed, and waved a hand in the direction of Keith's bedroom, “Aren’t you supposed to be taking a nap after work or something?”

“Or something,” Keith repeated mockingly and Lance groaned. “I am though. Let me know if you need any help with dinner.”

“I need you to go away.” Lance said as Keith walked away, laughing.

 

-

 

Keefer (03.32pm): is lance always so

GreenMachine (03.32pm): on? Yes

GreenMachine (03.32pm): dude I know u practically lived in your bed for the past few weeks but come on

Keefer (03.33pm): he wasn't this energetic when I was around then tho

GreenMachine (03.33pm): you're funny

GreenMachine (03.33pm): and also fucked lol

Keefer (03.34pm): I didn't say I minded it

GreenMachine (03.34pm): lol

GreenMachine (03.35pm): u do kno ur the reason for why he's more Lancey than usual right

GreenMachine (03.35pm): u and this whole little thing u guys got going on

Keefer (03.36pm): that means he'll settle down when the novelty runs out right

Keefer (03.37pm): right?

  
  


-

 

Keith came home on Monday to find Lance digging through the front coat closet. He leaned out as Keith neared, greeting him with a cheerful grin, then pulled out a familiar red and white cropped leather jacket. Keith bristled at the sight, mood dropping significantly.

“Is this yours?” Lance asked brightly, holding it out as if he was measuring it against Keith’s frame. “I mean, I’m assuming it’s yours. It doesn’t really fit Pidge’s style, and it’s too wide in the shoulders for her.”

“Yes, it’s mine.” Keith replied shortly, grabbing the jacket out of Lance’s hands forcefully and pushing him away from the closet.

“Dude,” Lance gave him an offended look, pulling his hand back like he’d been slapped. He watched Keith wrestle with the contents of the closet for a moment before asking sullenly, “Why don’t you wear it?”

“Because it’s a motorcyle jacket,” Keith muttered, shoving things on the hanger over until he could reach the back. Why did they have so much stuff hanging in the closet? 

“And you only wear it when you ride your motorcycle.” Lance mused out loud, “And you can’t ride your motorcycle, because it’s busted.”

Keith didn’t respond, only shoved the jacket onto the hangar all the way in the back of the closet, then pushed all the other garments back into place. He closed the closet door and faced Lance only to find the other man watching him with a inscrutable look, eyebrows pinched and arms crossed.

“What?” Keith asked, reflexively crossing his arms as well. 

“Nothing,” Lance said, though his expression hadn’t changed, “You know, I’ve been thinking about your motorcycle issue. You said it’s something with the engine, right? Well, maybe Hunk should take a look at it. He’s an engineer or whatever, maybe he can help.”

“I doubt it,” Keith said, looking away from Lance. “It’s an old model, the parts aren’t easy to come by and it might not even be something that can be repaired.”

“Yeah, but maybe Hunk can figure that out?” Lance prodded, leaning back into Keith’s view. He gave him an encouraging grin and continued, “So instead of just sitting around moping and guessing you can actually know what’s wrong?”

“I already know what’s wrong, okay?” Keith growled, glaring at Lance, “It’s broken. It won’t work. The end.”

“Fuck man, I’m just trying to help!” Lance exclaimed, throwing out his arms in frustration. 

“Then stop, all right?” Keith snapped back, pointedly looking away from Lance as the other man let out a loud groan.

“All right,  _ fine _ . Motorcycle… touchy subject, I get it now,” Lance said, and very suddenly his arms were around Keith’s middle and he was pulling him in close. When he spoke again his breath tickled Keith’s ear, “I won’t mention it again, so calm down.”

Keith bristled a moment longer, back stiff, but Lance’s touch was warming him. It wasn’t Lance’s fault, he reminded himself, and so he tried to calm down and push the negative feelings away. He focused on Lance instead, on his solid warmth and on the feel of his thumb stroking his side soothingly. He sighed, relaxing slightly into the embrace. Should having Lance’s arms around him feel so natural already? It probably shouldn't but he wouldn't deny the sense of comfort he got from the touch. He wouldn't deny wanting it, the closeness and the ease with which Lance moved to touch him - and he was so fucking thankful that Lance wasn't a mess like him, too nervous and standoffish to reach out himself.

“What about the apartment?” He asked, desperate to change the topic. “Did you go to see the landlord today?”

“Yup,” Lance said, resting his head against Keith’s shoulder. “And you know what he said? He wanted the full charge for rent. Said he'd thought it over and he can't in ‘good conscience’ or whatever let the place go for lower than thirteen hundred. Can you believe that?”

Fuck,” Keith frowned, uncrossing his arm and shifting slightly. “What did you do?”

“What do you think I did?” Lance huffed, leaning back to shoot Keith a cocky grin. “I used my charm and charisma, of course.”

“Okay, but did you get him to lower the rent?” Keith asked, fighting back a grin.

“Did you not hear what I said?” lance asked incredulously. “Charm? Charisma?”

“Oh I heard it.” Keith grinned finally, chuckling at the betrayed look on Lance’s face.

“Ugh, you're such a shit.” Lance said, shoving Keith away dramatically. “I don't like you anymore.”

Keith rolled his eyes, giving Lance a push in the direction of the living room as he headed there himself.

“So when are you moving in? He asked, trying to ignore the flutter of unhappiness that thought brought.

“Saturday,” Lance said, following behind Keith. “The place is empty though, so I'm gonna try to go and paint at least the bedrooms before then.”

“Do you need help with that?” Keith asked, pulling his hoodie off.

“Are you offering to help?” Lance asked as he slouched down onto the couch.

“No.” Keith replied shortly. 

“Ha. You're so funny.” Lance said dryly, looking unamused. 

“What day do you want me there?” Keith asked, grinning to himself as he tossed the hoodie through his open bedroom door. It landed half on the desk chair, one arm trailing down to the floor. 

“Wednesday,” Lance said, watching Keith curiously as he walked over and sat on the couch next to him. “Aren’t you gonna go lay down or whatever?”

Keith looked at him, eyes roving over his face. He breathed deeply, and grinned as he replied, “Not today.”

 

-

Lance’s new apartment was one block off a main street, situated at the bottom of a century-and-a-half old red-bricked three flat. Keith had parked a little ways down the street from it in the only parking spot he could find, and he took a look around as he walked over, breathing in the crisp autumn air as leaves crunched under his shoes. The street itself was pleasant, with lawns bordering the sidewalk and trees of various heights growing everywhere. Even with the close set buildings, most of them two or three flats, it didn't feel like it was as close to the center of the city as it was. Keith thought he might like living in a neighborhood like this, with a mom and pop grocer on the corner and someone walking a dog on every street and hand drawn band posters on every lamppost.

The entrance to the apartment was offset from the main cement stairs out front, and the front window was set next to it, positioned just barely above the flowerbed. Keith took the seven - he counted - steps down and eyed the door. It looked solid, at least from the outside. There was a peephole but no window panes that could be broken. 

Why was he judging the security of the door again? Keith frowned, and rang the doorbell. It took a few moments, but then he heard the sound of the lock turning, and the door swung open.

“Keith! You’re here!” Lance greeted happily, smile blinding. He had ripped jeans on and a gray tank top that was already smeared with blue paint. A backwards baseball cap sat on his head, his hair pulled back beneath it. 

“Uh, yeah, I said I’d come.” Keith replied, grinning. He hesitated on the threshold, but then Lance grabbed him by the arm and tugged him inside.

“Come on come on, get in here,” Lance said as he closed and locked the door once. He looked as giddy as a kid with a new toy, Keith could swear he saw waves of excitement wafting off of him. “Let me show you around.”  
Lance led the way out of the small front entryway and into the living room. It was about half-again as long as the one in Keith and Pidge’s apartment, though a bit narrower, and so far it was empty except for a half-full garbage bag in the corner and a couple of empty boxes scattered throughout.

“I think I’ll leave the walls the way they are here,” Lance said, and then he turned to Keith and motioned around himself, “But imagine, okay, imagine a couch here -” He sketched the shape in the air with his hands “- and the TV here on this wall so the glare from the window doesn’t hit it, right? And like, a bookcase here or something? Oh, stereo system, right, there’s room for that…”

Keith barely had time to mutter “Yeah, sounds good.” before Lance was tugging at his arm again, pulling him into a short but wide hallway leading off of the living room.

“Okay so bathroom’s here. It’s okay, I mean, it'll do,” Lance said, and Keith noted that it wasn’t much different than his own. Lance pointed into the next doorway on the right as he continued, “And here’s the first bedroom. It’s the smaller one so I figure I could eventually throw a bed in there in case anyone needs to crash? But otherwise it can just be like, a room. Whatever. And then the second one is off of the kitchen. The washer-dryer is off the kitchen too.”  
Keith followed him further in, peering around curiously. The cabinets in the kitchen were white, the stove and dishwasher were stainless steel, and the floor was covered in linoleum that crinkled under foot, no doubt because of previous flooding. There was a window on the back wall that looked out onto another flower bed, so at least there was natural light reaching the room. The back door was at the rear of the kitchen as well.

“And here is where I need your help today.” Lance said, grinning as he led the way into the last room. It was as large as Keith’s bedroom, with a closet set into the wall it shared with the other bedroom, and a window on each of the outside walls. Lance had already managed to put down drop cloths over the floor, and there were several gallons of paint sitting in the middle of the floor, along with several rollers and paint pans. One of the pans had paint pooled in it, and Lance had already taped around the doors and windows and edge around them with cerulean paint.

“So,” Lance said, turning to Keith and putting his hands on his hips, “What do you think?”

“It’s nice,” Keith answered. “It doesn’t really feel like a basement apartment, you know?”

“I know, right?” Lance said happily. He looked around the room, a pleased grin on his face, and Keith was happy for him. It’d be rough not having Lance around all the time, but he could tell this apartment meant a lot to him.

“Where can I throw my jacket?” Keith asked finally, pulling it off as he spoke. 

“Here, I put mine in the closet,” Lance said, holding his hand out for Keith’s jacket. He hung it up once Keith handed it over, then turned back with a mischievous look in his eyes.

“So, I was thinking…” He started.

“That can’t be good,” Keith quipped back, walking over to the supplies. He crouched down and picked up a clean roller.

“I was  _ thinking _ ,” Lance repeated, ignoring Keith’s jab, “That we should spice this up a bit.”

“You want to spice up painting walls?” Keith asked, giving Lance a blank look. He didn’t know what Lance had in mind but…

“Listen, great idea here okay,” Lance said, and after a long pause for dramatic effect finished, “Painting duel.”

“What?” Keith asked, cocking an eyebrow up at the other man. Lace grinned back at him, excitement sparking in his eyes.

“Painting duel! Come on, a  _ painting duel _ .” He said enthusiastically, motioning to the walls.

“How, exactly, is that supposed to work?” Keith asked.

“Easy, whoever finishes their wall first, wins.” Lance said, hands on his hips. He seemed absolutely confident in his idea.

“Wins what?” Keith asked, rolling the clean roller on his palm. The texture was nice, fluffy and soft but with a firmness behind it. He liked it.

“Uh, bragging rights?” Lance supplied. He looked a little puzzled, as if he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“Boring.” Keith responded. “Is that the best you got?”

“Fine, loser has to pay for the pizza.” Lance said.

“I thought you were paying for it anyway,” Keith said with a grin, “You know, as a thank you?”

“Ugh, you’re right.” Lance said, then groaned. “Come on, Keith, buddy, humor me… Painting is  _ so boring _ .”

Keith continued to give him a disinterested look, and Lance sighed dramatically.

“Okay, I get it,” He said, holding his hands out. “You’re scared.”

“What?”

“Scared. Of losing. That’s okay man,” Lance said with a cheeky grin, “If I was going up against me I’d be scared of losing too.”

Keith frowned at him, irritated at the mere suggestion. “I’m not scared of losing to you. I just think it’s  _ stupid _ .”

“Yeah, sure,” Lance said dismissively, half-turning away, and though Keith knew Lance was doing it all on purpose he still felt his blood begin to boil. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy.”

“I’m not scared of losing to you,” Keith said firmly, standing back up to face Lance. He crossed his arms. “Because I wouldn’t.”

“Oh yeah?” Lance asked, smirking. “Prove it.”

“Ugh, no,” Keith said, but it was a lost cause, and worst of all - Lance seemed to know it.

Fuck, Lance was pushing all of his competitive buttons - and how, how had he even figured them out?

“Oh, come on, I’ll even give you a handicap.” Lance said sweetly, pointing at the wall with the closet. “You can paint that one, less wall space to work with.”

“I don’t need a handicap, Lance!” Keith snapped, losing his composure, and Lance’s smirk only grew.

“Oh, you don’t?” Lance taunted, “Well then Mr. Painter, show me what you got?”

“Fine.” Keith said, meeting Lance’s eyes, “Let’s duel.”   


 

Some time later Keith finished the final stroke and pulled the roller off the wall. His part was flawless, the paint evenly spread across the surface. It helped that Lance had bought that one-coat, no primer needed paint - it wouldn’t have been so easy otherwise. Grinning to himself, he turned around to find Lance still finishing his wall in hurried strokes.

“I guess it wouldn’t have mattered if we bet the pizza,” He said, propping the end of the roller handle on the ground and putting a hand on his hip. “You’d still be paying.”

Lance let out a string of what Keith assumed had to be curses, even if he didn’t understand the language, and shot him a dirty look. Rolling his eyes, Keith turned back to admire his handiwork. It had been a while since he’d painted last, but it was good to see he hadn’t lost his touch. Just as he was considering if he should scrape the excess paint off of the roller, or start on another wall, something heavy and wet rolled smoothly and quickly down his back. He stiffened, hackles raising as he heard a snicker behind him, and turned around slowly.

Lance held his roller up, looking pleased as punch with himself and his act of revenge. Keith hesitated only a moment, then swept out with his own roller and left a streak of blue on Lance’s bare arm. Lance gave an indignant gasp as Keith smirked.

“Oh, you asked for it,” Lance’s mouth set in a grim line as he readied his own roller, and before Keith knew it they were engaged in a battle, roller handles cracking against each other as they blocked and parried. Keith had no idea what he was doing, other than that he was trying to paint Lance before Lance could paint him. Lance caught his arm, paint streaking across his bare skin, even as he attempted to dodge aside. Heart pounding, grinning, Keith ducked under Lance’s thrust and scored a hit on Lance’s thigh. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much  _ fun _ as he gave it his all, not holding back as he pushed the attack, knocking Lance’s roller away and stepping into the space left behind. Lance looked about as exhilarated as he did, face flushed with the exertion and a grin on his face even as he reached out to try and keep Keith’s arms at bay. He laughed as Keith pushed onward, trying to angle the long handle of the roller so he could reach, and dropped his own roller to grapple with Keith. They pulled and tugged at each other for a while, feet slipping on the drop cloths until all of a sudden Keith was falling backwards. A shock of panic shot through him and he reached out and grabbed the first thing he could reach - Lance.

With a loud crash, they landed on the floor, the breath getting knocked out of Keith as Lanced landed on him. For a moment he just lay there, staring up at the still-white ceiling as he struggled to get his breath back in control. Lance shifted, not off of him but only so much that he could prop himself up on his elbows and look down at Keith. He smirked, cap knocked sideways and eyes twinkling merrily, and said,

“You come here often? I don’t think I’ve stumbled into you before.”

Keith groaned, but it was half-hearted and bordering on a chuckle, and he could tell Lance knew because he kept grinning happily. In retaliation, Keith reached out and smeared some of the paint on his fingers across Lance’s cheek. 

“Dude,” Lance yelped, “My  _ pores _ .”

Keith laughed, smearing more of the paint on Lance’s other cheek. 

“Stop,” Lance pulled his hand away, pouting down at Keith.

“Why?” Keith asked, grinning, “It looks good. It matches your eyes.”

“Does it,” Lance said, and there was something different in his voice then, something different in the way he looked at Keith. He still held Keith’s hand in his own, his touch warm and soft and Keith was suddenly so very acutely aware of the position they were in - him on his back, Lance splayed across him, their legs tangled and their chests practically touching. A burst of anticipation woke in his stomach, trembling warm threads up through his chest and into his throat, and all of a sudden it was very, very hard to breathe. His face was flushed, only now it wasn’t just from the exertion of their mock battle, and Keith licked his lips. Lance’s eyes met his, so very blue and very bright, and Keith knew he’d never get tired of looking at them, of looking at  _ him,  _ and the air was crackling around them,  _ potential _ sparking like stray lightning and all of a sudden-

-they were kissing. Hot lips and hot breaths and Lance had his hand in Keith’s hair and it felt  _ so good _ . It felt so good, and Keith pulled him in, arms wrapped around Lance’s waist and shoulders, fingers pressing into him as he pulled him close. He didn’t want it to stop, he didn’t want any of it to ever end, all of his doubts and worries were being swept away by the heat of the moment and the feelings and the rush of touch and taste. He trailed one hand up Lance’s neck to the back of his head, knocking aside the cap so he could run his fingers through the short hair there. Lance sighed against him, arms framing Keith’s head as he continued to run the fingers of one hand hand through Keith’s hair. The sensations were glorious, the heat so wonderful, and Keith wanted to get lost in it all.

Everything had an end, however, and they had to seperate finally so they could  _ breathe _ . Still, they only barely pulled away, still close enough that their noses bumped.

“You’re heavy.” Keith said finally, still panting, as he grinned up at Lance. The other man grunted, cocking an eyebrow.

“Uh, excuse you, I am  _ not _ .” Lance replied, “I am a delicate flower petal I am  _ weightless _ .”

“Nope, definitely heavy,” Keith said, but he made no move to dislodge him. He trailed one hand along the line of Lance’s spine and felt Lance shift in response. A thought came to him all of a sudden, and he grinned mischievously at Lance.

“Hey, are you ticklish?” He asked casually.

“Uh, no,” Lance laughed, but he began to push himself away and Keith knew he was lying. Moving his hands quickly, he tickled Lance along his sides and was rewarded with a loud shriek.

“No!” Lance cried out but he was laughing even as he shoved himself off of Keith. He ended up falling into his side on the floor, but Keith could still reach him.

Without reservation he attacked Lance again, tickling his ribs as Lance struggled in vain to fight him off.  Their laughter filled the room, and Keith thought to himself that he could get used to this.

 

-

 

GreenMachine (09.09pm): it took u 6 hrs to paint one room??

Keefer (09.10pm): two rooms

Keefer (09.11pm): and it was a lot of cleanup

GreenMachine (09.11pm): I bet it was

 

-

 

Saturday came far too quickly for Keith’s liking. Lance had already spent the last night at the new apartment, sleeping on an air mattress, but Keith was still not used to the idea of not having him around. It didn't help that Lance was extra close that week, constantly touching him or sitting close to him on the couch and pulling him into a hug each night before they went to sleep, as if he wanted to make up for any time they'd lose in the weeks that would follow. Keith was  _ just _ getting used to it all and starting to enjoy it all and now it was going to go away. He might've been just a tad bit bitter about that.

It was hard to stay irked for long, though, with Lance chattering a mile a minute, a permanent excited grin on his face, as they carried in his things and he got them sorted into the rooms. Hunk was helping, and his girlfriend Shay had joined in as well. From how Lance talked about her - that is, rarely and with a reserved sort of respect - Keith had assumed they weren't on good terms, but that seemed to be far from the truth. The two chatted amicably, although Keith noted Lance attempted to tone down his more extreme enthusiasm whenever Shay was around.

The bigger surprise, however, was that not only did Pidge tag along for the move, she actually helped with carrying a few boxes in. Of course, not long after that she was scouring every inch of the apartment, sharp eyes surveying every nook and cranny of the place. 

“Do you think he knows about the tiny closet off the front entryway?” She had asked Keith conspiratory whisper at one point. He gave her a blank look and she shrugged.

“I don't know,” He'd replied. “Are you going to tell him?”

She'd only shrugged again, and drifted off to wander the apartment once more. Keith paid it little mind; the first week in their apartment she'd scoured it floor to ceiling and he was certain she had the three dimensional blueprints of the place saved in her computer somewhere. He wouldn't be surprised if the blueprints of Lance’s apartment soon joined it.

As the day went on Keith was surprised to find out that Lance had more to move in than what he'd brought to the apartment. Hunk had driven up in a rented pickup not long after Keith and Pidge had arrived with the few pieces of furniture Lance had stored at a storage facility over. There was a couch, the dresser from his bedroom, a tv stand and a tv, a small stereo system, several rugs and a bookcase. It was nowhere near enough to fill the apartment, and Keith assumed there were things that Lance had left behind in the previous one due to his sudden departure, but at least the place didn't seem quite so empty anymore.

“You do not happen to know where Lance wanted his books to go?” Shay asked Keith as they passed in the livingroom. She had a large box with the words “books & stuff” scrawled on it in Lance’s loopy handwriting in her arms, and Keith was suitably impressed with how easily she held it.

“He put the bookcase in here, but I’m not really sure if this is where he wants it to be.” Keith answered. Shay quirked her mouth in thought a moment, then nodded.

“I think I will leave them here after all, it will be better than cluttering the other rooms, and we can always move them later.” She said, setting the box out of the way by the wall. For a moment longer she stood there in the living room, eyeing Keith shyly. Keith wasn’t quite sure how to start a conversation with her, she seemed a bit reserved around him, not in a bad way. Maybe she was a shy person? He wasn’t exactly great at initial social interaction himself. After a moment, however, Shay seemed to come to a decision, and approached him quietly. Keith tried to look friendly - he knew that his default expression made him look like he was disgruntled with the world at large on a good day, and he didn't want Shay to think she was bothering him. 

“That was nice of you, letting Lance stay at your apartment,” She said, grinning softly. “We would have let him stay with us if he asked, but he did not…”

“I think he didn't want to bother you two with it.” Keith said uncertainly, not quite sure how to respond. Shay laughed lightly at that..

“I'm sure he did not, though it would not have been a bother,” Shay said with a grin. She glanced in the direction of the kitchen where it sounded like Hunk and Lance were having a heated discussion about muffins, and added, “We did not get along too well when I first started dating Hunk, you know.”

“Really?” Keith raised an eyebrow, “ Why doesn't that surprise me.”

“It took a bit of work, but we are good now,” Shay said with a grin. After another short moment she added, “But I think you should know, Lance tends to get a bit passive aggressive when he's jealous.”

“Oh, uh,” Keith blanked for half a second at the realization that Shay must  _ know _ about them if she was saying something like that. He eyed her a little uneasily, but her intentions didn’t seem to be malicious. She looked sincere, if a little mischievous, but definitely  _ not  _ mean. “Th-thanks for the tip.”

“What're you two chatting about out here?” Lance’s voice reached them suddenly, and Keith snapped around to find him standing at the entrance to the living room, looking at them with a curiosity bordering on suspicion.

“A bit of everything,” Shay responded smoothly, and Keith silently thanked her for her quick response. “I think I’ll check to see if there are any more boxes to bring in.”

She ducked out, shooting Keith a friendly grin as she passed him and headed out the door.

“She’s really nice,” Keith said, looking at Lance. 

“Yeah,” Lance said, the suspicious looking dropping from his face, and smiled back. “She’s like,  _ super _ nice. When Hunk and her get to being nice together at the same time, it’s like a nice-pocalypse. The world implodes into a black hole of amiable friendship.”

He paused, a musing look on his face, and added, “It’s funny, the same thing happens when they both get righteously angry about something. Only, the black hole is righteous anger then, right.”

Keith laughed, walking over to Lance and that musing look turned into a fond grin. Lance looped an arm around Keith’s waist and reeled him in close, and Keith lay an arm across his shoulders.

“So, what else can I help you with?” Keith asked.

“Oh, is that really the question you want to be asking?” Lance asked, wiggling his eyebrows, and Keith rolled his eyes. Laughing, Lance tugged him back down the hallway and added, “You know, I wouldn’t mind some help getting my clothes hung up in the closet.”

The clothes took over an hour - it wouldn’t been done sooner but apparently Lance did not appreciate Keith’s system of ‘hang it wherever there’s space and move on’ - and by the time the shirts and pants and sweaters and hoodiers and all of it was hung up and segregated the way Lance wanted it (or as close to it as possible) Keith was ready to strangle  _ himself _ with a clothes hanger if it meant he never had to deal with that again. Thankfully, Hunk and Shay had moved the rest of the stuff in from the cars by then, and with the heavy lifting over with they settled down on the living room couch and waited for the pizza Lance had so graciously offered to buy. The pizza disappeared too fast, and Keith was surprised to find that the sun was already setting by the time they’d gathered up the cartons and tidied up the room. Before he knew it, Hunk and Shay were saying their goodbye’s and Pidge was giving him that  _ look _ that meant she was done and ready to get home. 

“Thanks guys, I really appreciate you helping out,” Lance said as he gave everyone a hug one by one. Even Pidge allowed it, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing him until he gasped out a cry for mercy. Keith slipped out while Lance was engaged in what seemed to be a serious bro-mance session with Hunk, heading over to his car quickly. Pidge followed, getting into the passenger’s seat while he pulled a large ziploc bag out from the back seat.

“Don’t take forever, Keith,” She said to him, smirking as she pulled out her phone and started tapping away at it. “You both need to get used to being apart.”

Keith shot her a dirty look and hurried back to the apartment, giving Hunk and Shay a wave as they passed him to head to their car. The door was ajar, and he slipped inside quietly, pulling it shut behind himself. Lance was kicking a box into a corner, but he turned around when he heard Keith step into the room, a bright grin blossoming on his face.

“Hey, I thought you ran out without saying good bye,” Lance said, walking over. Keith hesitated a moment, fuck that anxious twist in his gut, then shoved the bag at Lance awkwardly.

“Here,” He said, pressing it into Lance’s chest because he needed Lance to take it, now, right  _ now _ . “For your ceiling.”

Lance grabbed the bag reflexively, a puzzled look on his face at Keith’s words. He lifted the bag, eyeing it a moment.

“Are those…? Glow stars?” His voice rose excitedly, grin back on his face as he shook the bag, the stars sifting against each other, round ones and star shaped ones and big and small and all the sizes in between, “Blue ones?”

“Yeah, I mean I think they should be, I tried to check to make sure...” Keith said, awkward and buzzing with the backwash of Lance’s enthusiasm. He was feeling jittery and lightheaded, but in a good way, like everything was brimming with positive energy and sunshine. What a trip.

“I thought they only came in mixed packs…” Lance said, and then he looked at Keith and it was like he just realized what he said, and realized what it meant, and Keith had never seen that depth of appreciation in anyone’s eyes before. He was going to drown in those eyes one day, holy shit, he was not going to survive. 

“Oh my fucking god, thank you.”

Keith had to brace himself to keep from falling when Lance launched himself at him, wrapping his long arms around him and hugging him so tight Keith was certain he’d have bruising on his sides. It didn’t matter, because Lance was happy and Keith was happy he was happy, and he pressed his face into Lance’s shoulder and tried to breathe.

“You’re such a dork,” Lance told him, his voice choked in emotion, and Keith couldn’t stop grinning.

 

-

 

GlowStars (8.32pm): hey im having a super special show tonight

GlowStars (8.32pm): to break in the new place

GlowStars (8.33pm): will u going to watch???

GlowStars (8.33pm): i hope u do

GlowStars (8.34pm): :) <3

  
  


-

 

Lance was starting the show but Keith was too distracted to listen to what he was saying. It was almost difficult to believe that the room on the screen was the same bedroom he helped paint - the cerulean blue of the wall almost glowed, the sheets stood out stark and pale against the depth of that color. And Lance, Lance shone like a fucking god, bathed perfectly in the lighting, shadows accenting all his curves and planes and muscles just right. Keith was  breathless, his eyes roving across that taut, warm skin, tracing the lines of the scars. The autopsy scars stood out the most, the freshest and largest, thick and paler than the surrounding skin. 

Keith wondered what they felt like, whether they were raised, smooth or rough, how they would feel under his fingertips. He wondered what they would taste like. Fuck. And Lance, Lance would probably let him touch them if he asked.  _ Fuck _ .

He tried not to think about it too much, tried to just focus the show instead. It was almost too good - Keith knew he’d missed it but it was like he was seeing it for the first time again. Every cut, every rolling drop of blood looked phenomenal. Every time Lance smeared the blood across his tan skin Keith shuddered, every time he voiced his pleasure while cutting Keith felt his heart drop in tantalizing vertigo. He’d missed it so much.

And then, sometime in the middle of the show, Lance cocked his head at the camera. The chat scrolled past relatively quickly, and he seemed to watch it a moment, idly tapping a knife against his thigh. There were dozens of requests coming in, too many to keep track of, and Keith assumed Lance was waiting for the chat to calm a bit so he could pick one out. After a moment he chuckled however, spinning the held knife in one hand as he wiped some of the blood off of his torso with the other. Making a pleased sound, he placed the knife aside, and picked up a now-familiar wooden handled knife. 

“Now this,” Lance said, his voice low and sultry, “Is for a special someone out there. You know who you are.”

Keith curled into himself, heart stuttering because that… that was  _ his _ knife, and Lance... Lance was twisting around, reseating himself so he could present his left side to the camera. Keith wasn’t breathing, his throat was far too tight as he watched Lance lazily drag the tip of the knife up along his side, stopping right…  _ right there _ , right where he’d cut for Keith the first time. 

No, Keith couldn’t believe it, not even when Lance began to cut, humming a cheerful tune to himself as he slowly and precisely dragged the sharp tip in a smooth curve. 

He couldn’t believe it, he couldn’t because that would mean that Lance  _ remembered _ , that would mean that Lance had remembered who he was - it had been months,  _ months _ , and there was Lance, finishing the first curve and starting on the next in the same exact spot he’d cut for Keith the first time. And Keith’s heart couldn’t take it, he was choking up with his hands at his mouth because Lance had cut a fucking heart like a fucking  _ dork _ , the blood welling up thick and red along the edges. 

Keith remembered the first time Lance had cut a heart, on that first show that he’d ever watched, but it was different this time. The placement, the careful cuts, the way Lance brushed the blood across the inner part of the heart gently - it was all personal, oddly intimate in a way that made Keith’s skin buzz and his heart pound in his ears. He was so fucked, he couldn’t believe - he couldn’t believe they were a thing. Couldn’t believe that the glorious, bloodied man on screen was the same one who sent him cheesy pick up lines and who’d meowed the Meow Mix song at him the day before, who shot him cocky grins and pulled him into the softest hugs he’d ever experienced. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was. He couldn’t believe he  _ had him _ .

Lance squirmed a bit, like he was excited or something, and brought bloodied fingers up to the front of the mask. With an exaggerated smack he tapped the front of the mask and blew a kiss at the camera, and Keith felt it hit right in the chest, spreading heat through his limbs and a blush across his face. He put his face in his hands and groaned, unable to keep from smiling, unable to keep that warm burst of happiness from lighting him up inside.

He hoped Lance never did that again. He probably wouldn’t survive the next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think? This one is a softer chapter, haha, hope you enjoyed!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, because it's been so long I decided to divide up CH 9 into two and post the first half now, and the next near the end of the month.  
> This means this is a shorter chapter, but I hope you enjoy it anyways. Please let me know what you think?
> 
> Also you absolutely need to check out this piece of perfection by lemoninasin on tumbler: http://lemoninasin.tumblr.com/post/154137136782/okay-so-first-of-all-everyone-must-read-bloodcam  
> I can't handle it
> 
> If you need to yell at me, you can find me here:  
> [Tumblr: JustBloodCamThings Updates tagged as BloodCam fic (with space)](http://justbloodcamthings.tumblr.com)  
> [Twitter: itsdetachable BloodCam updates will be tagged #bloodcamfic](http://twitter.com/itsdetachable)

Time wasn’t really a friend to Keith. Periods would come when the minutes and hours and days seemed to blur together, where he’d putter through on autopilot without really paying attention to the things around him. Life would become the back of a shampoo bottle; lather, rinse, repeat - work, home, sleep. Repetitive, unremarkable, and utterly unmemorable.

And maybe he should’ve expected it, but it still came as a shock when he found himself standing outside the coffee shop with a latte in hand one day, eyes narrowed at the clouded sky in the west as he struggled to remember what day it was. Tuesday? Wednesday? His nerves fluttered fitfully as he realized he couldn’t remember, as he tried to piece the days together, one by one. They’d all helped Lance move in on Saturday, Lance’s camshow had been Sunday night, and today was...he couldn’t remember. For half a moment, a gut-dropping split second, he was struck by the fear that  _ weeks _ had somehow passed him by without him noticing. Heart pounding, he forced himself to  _ think _ \- Lance was going back to his regular schedule, he couldn’t remember another show  _ and he damn fucking well remembered them _ so... so it couldn’t have been more than a couple of days. At most.

But he couldn’t remember what he’d done at work that day, what he’d had for lunch, or even if he’d texted with Lance at all since that morning. And when he stepped into his apartment some time later, kicking his shoes off just inside the door, he couldn’t remember what he’d done with his latte.

Fuck.

He’d felt it coming - ever since the irritation had gotten to be too much and all he wanted to do was isolate himself. And he knew that he brought it on himself, at least in some part, by denying his  _ feelings _ , by running from them and cutting himself off from some of the only social interaction he got most days. He really should've been able to anticipate it by now, but like always it crept up on him and caught him unawares.

Sighing, he shrugged out of his hoodie and left it on a barstool, then walked over to collapse on the couch. _The couch._ He’d gotten the couch, and those hours at the tv after work, back again but at what cost? The apartment was quiet, the living room was so _empty_ without the boxes and the piled blankets and… and Lance. There was no dinner being prepared, no rambling to endure, no one there to make fun of his hair or his faded tees or goad him into stupid competitions. Keith couldn’t remember, right then, just how long Lance had lived with them, but he didn’t think it was long enough to leave such a gaping hole behind. He’d never had trouble filling the empty hours of his day before, but now suddenly he was at a loss. It made no sense - he still talked to Lance daily, they texted all the time, it should have been _enough_. It wasn’t, though. Keith felt the loss of Lance’s presence like the loss of part of himself, like someone had clawed something out of him. It scared him a little, to think he could feel the loss so keenly, so soon - to think he’d grown so used to Lance already. They barely knew each other. They were _barely_ _together_. It shouldn’t feel this bad.

Grabbing the remote, he turned the tv on in the hopes that it would distract his mind a bit. He flipped through several stations before settling on the Science channel, and flopped onto his stomach on the couch. He tried to focus on the words and the show but none of it stuck. His thoughts moved sluggishly through his brain, whirling like a low-powered mixer, the voice from the tv droning on as he struggled to understand the words. And failed.

Sighing, he admitted defeat and pulled out his phone. Swiping it on, he pulled up his text history and scrolled through it slowly. So he  _ had _ texted Lance that day, just not recently because -as Lance’s last text stated- he was at work. The pet store manager had a strict no-phones-on-the-floor policy that Lance had bemoaned but did his best to comply with. Keith was honestly surprised, and a little impressed, that Lance was able to resist the urges to immediately text any little random non-sequitur right when it came to mind. Not that it stopped him from sending them out eventually; most days Keith could tell when Lance’s shift ended by the multiple text messages that would come buzzing through in rapid succession. 

For a moment Keith considered sending Lance a text, something stupid probably, even though he knew Lance wouldn’t be able to respond - but he didn't have the energy. Instead he placed the phone on the armrest and turned his attention back to the tv. The voiceover ran on into gibberish, the images on screen blurring into each other as his eyes slowly unfocused. Fuck, but he was not in a good place right then.

“Ugh.” A loud groan reached him at the same time a door thudded open, and he jerked back to attention to hear Pidge stomp her way to the kitchen.The fridge opened and shut, followed closely with the sound of cabinet doors being swung open.

“Keith!” Pidge called out, sounding horribly grumpy, “Call your boyfriend and tell him to make us dinner.”

“I can't,” Keith called back, and even though his general state of disinterest hung so heavily over him he still felt a slight thrill at the word “boyfriends”. Were they…? Like, officially? What made a relationship official, anyways… He was so bad at defining that, but still he found himself grinning to himself as he added, “He’s at work.”

“Ugh. Why.” Pidge groaned again, and now her footsteps headed into the living room. A moment later she was plopping down onto Keith's back, crushing the air out of him. He groaned, but she only responded by wiggling into a more comfortable position and slouching back against the backrest.

“Get off,” He said finally, unmoving, “Your butt’s bony.”

“No.” 

For a moment longer they stayed like that, Pidge’s weight slowly crushing Keith’s ribcage until it was difficult to draw a breath. He nudged her finally when he really began to feel the burning lack of air, and Pidge begrudgingly shifted so that he could turn onto his side, sitting on the edge of the couch after he did so. She seemed to be actually paying attention to the show, unlike him. Keith sighed, pulling his phone back down in front of his face. All of thirty minutes had passed since he’d last checked it.

“Want to order thai?” He asked, because he just managed to remember that Pidge had been talking about dinner. Pidge shrugged, toying with the sleeve of her shirt. Instead of dialing, Keith tapped the messenger app on and sent Lance a quick text.

 

Keefer (3.15pm): ur not here and its quiet

 

It didn’t really get across what he meant - that the apartment seemed bigger somehow but not in a good way, that it felt emptier, that his head was all full of fuzz and there was no one there to distract him from it, that it was so quiet that he couldn’t focus on anything. That he missed the tones of Lance’s voice in its walls, missed the way Lance was always… always  _ something _ , humming a song or moving around or just  _ existing _ loud enough to notice from behind his bedroom walls.

 

GlowStars (3.21pm): u trying to say i’m loud or something??

 

No, Keith thought, and groaned. He couldn’t actually tell if Lance had taken it the wrong way or not, sometimes it was fucking hard to tell with him, especially over text. Keith needed more practice before he could feel confident deciphering the meaning behind his words. He didn’t want Lance to think he was complaining - he hadn’t thought his words could be taken that way - but communication was so difficult, and he struggled for a moment to think of a way to respond. Then he gave up, because his head was a slow-motion whirligig and he couldn’t get the words to line up right.

“So, Thai?”

Keith started, looking over at Pidge in confusion a moment. She watched him with eyebrows raised, a Pidge-patented patiently-impatient look on her face. 

Wait, right, he’d asked Pidge if they were ordering Thai. 

“Uh, yeah,” Keith said, frowning in disappointment at himself, “Do you want me to order?”

“Nah, I got it,” Pidge said, grinning. She patted his shoulder, but gave him an oddly concerned look as she got up. “You okay though?”

“Yeah,” Keith shrugged, curling up a little. She’d warmed up his stomach where she’d been sitting, and now that she’d gotten up he felt chilled, “I just feel a bit… off, I guess.”

“Understandable,” Pidge said, as if she’d been expecting the answer, and added with certainty, as if it explained everything, “It  _ is _ fall.”

Keith frowned at that, not quite sure what she meant.

“Oh, before I forget-” Pidge said as she headed away from the couch, “Matt said he wanted to visit at the end of October, is that okay with you?”

Matt. Keith shifted on the couch, curling in on himself all the more as he felt a familiar uneasy shudder race up his spine. His head was swimming suddenly, viciously and uncontrollably. He liked Matt,  _ he liked Matt,  _ but his brain had the nasty habit of bringing up all the wrong memories when he thought of him.

“It’s always alright with me.” He called back to Pidge, reaching up to push his hair out of his face, mentally shoving those wisps of memory into the back of his head. His breath was unsteady, but he was fine. Everything was fine.

 

-

 

Keith should have known better. 

The rest of the week had passed in a surreal combination of autopilot detachment and sudden intense clarity. He’d remember about Matt’s impending visit at odd moments, like at lunch or while he was taking a shower or in the middle of the night when he woke up for no reason. Maybe it was for the best, because the more he thought about it the easier it was to accept, the easier it was to fight down the wave of memories that threatened to well up inside his head. He wondered if that wasn’t why Pidge told him so early, if she wasn’t trying to help him out in her own way, get used to the idea instead of springing Matt’s visit on him last minute, like the last time. 

It did little to help his general state of mind, however. He’d spend his day to day going through the motions, the only highlights being the times his and Lance’s schedule would correlate so that they could meet up, for a coffee or to hang out at Lance’s apartment. He remembered Lance’s show on friday night because there was no way he could not, his emotions were far too strong and Lance was far too good at what he did,  but most of Saturday was a blur. He'd gone over to Lance’s apartment early that Saturday, and they'd spent most of the day watching movies curled up in his bed. Keith knew he'd tried  to help him out with food and shit, but the most he could remember was snippets of movies, Lance falling asleep on him at some point, and a general sense of  _ warmth _ . 

Saturday was good at least, unlike  _ that _ day. 

 

Waking up late was bad enough - waking up late with remnants of memories flitting around his brain as he rushed to get to work on time was absolutely the worst. The autumn air of a Colorado fall, the familiar laughter, the sense of belonging, all lingered on long after he’d fully woken. It had been so long since he’d had a dream of that time that it hit him with an extra dose of bitterness, tainting his taste buds and darkening his mood.

There was longing there, behind the bitterness, longing and  _ guilt _ . They still happened, sometimes - the dreams. And the memories. They still crept up on him, when someone mentioned ‘home’, or asked him what he remembered about his family, and his brain stuttered around two very different sets of memories. 

Because the truth was, the memories of his family, his  _ first _ family, the real family, were distant and foggy and faded away, nothing more than snippets of half-familiar Korean phrases, the scent of food he had no name for, something like a voice in the back of his head that he couldn’t make out but knew he would remember if he did. The truth was, when people asked him about his family his brain occasionally turned up a different set, as if the files inside of it had gotten mixed up and it couldn’t tell one set of memories from the other. The truth was, unlike the memories of his real family, these memories  _ hurt. _

So it was understandable he was irritated that day, on edge and unable to concentrate. He was still fighting back the dream-born memories of riding on the back of a motorcycle through the low-lying mountain roads, arms wrapped around the waist of the teenaged girl sitting in front of him as the wind rushed past; memories of drinking hot cocoa in an igloo fort with  _ the family,  _ the multi-colored ice blocks they’d spent all week making glittering in the mid-day sun and casting colored shadows around them. Memories of school fights and hugs, of loud dinners and a red lion stuffed animal. Memories…

Keith wasn’t a fan of memories.

Especially those.

 

In the end, he just really shouldn't have gone out to a movie that night.

He shouldn't have tried to be social, shouldn’t have tried to ignore the weight of it all and carry on as if nothing was wrong. It was a night to deal with all the shit in his head, by himself in his room, and not go out and be around people.

And even though he'd promised Lance he would go he was fully prepared to break that promise - until Lance showed up an hour early at the apartment, bright eyed and bushy tailed and all too eager to invade Keith’s personal space as he bumped their shoulders together and slid an arm around his waist and asked, “Ready to go?”

Keith was a weak man when faced with that easy grin and those blue eyes. A very, very weak man. He didn’t want to see that grin fade, he didn’t want to see disappointment in those eyes, so he  _ tried.  _ He told himself getting out of the house would do him good. Seeing a movie could get his mind off of things - relax him. Maybe this was what he needed to burst through that stubborn wall of faded days and white noise… and then the matter was sealed when Lance kissed his cheek and whispered mischievously into his ear, “This totally counts as a date, just don't tell Hunk and Pidge they think it's like hanging out time or something…”

 

So he went, endured the movie he'd really only wanted to see because it meant he got to spend time with Lance, and ate the popcorn they'd bought to share. Lance kept bumping his knee against Keith's at the exciting parts and Keith was a mix of emotions - equal parts irritable because of his general state of mind that day and amused because he could only imagine how much Lance was enjoying the movie.

Still, none of it could get the static out of his head, or the irritable itch out from under his skin. He could feel himself growing snappier by the moment, unable to focus well on the movie, the scenes coming and going and melting from one moment to the next, none of them forming anything concrete enough for him to remember. And that just pissed him off more as his mind hiccupped along a few steps behind the plot, working fitfully to try to keep up. The longer the movie went on, the more his head began to ache, like there was pressure inside desperate to break free. God, he should’ve stayed home - but no, he had to come out and try to be social or something, try to  _ relax _ \- only to get all the more irritated and pissed off as time went on.

And in the end, he had no one to be mad at but himself, since the situation he found himself in was absolutely and entirely his own fault.

They’d left the theater fifteen minutes earlier, and the conversation between him and Lance had quickly devolved from friendly banter into something sharp and cutting. All Keith wanted to do was to suffer the rest of the evening away in something like peace and get back home, but all he found himself doing was striking back at anything Lance said with harsh words of his own, deliberately opposite and deliberately goading. It was like he wasn’t even in control of his own speech, like the bitterness and the irritation had taken over his mouth, and the more they spoke to each other the worse it got.

“I can't believe you prefer Superman.” Lance scoffed, a sharp edge to his words as he kicked at a loose stone while they walked down the street. Keith felt that edge like a physical dagger press on his skin, hackles raising even though he knew there was no reason to react the way he was - with teeth clenching as his eyes narrowed. 

Keith had figured that he was somewhat reactive to Lance’s emotions - he’d always been empathic, a trait that hindered him far more than it helped when he was younger. Quick to react to angry words, quick to lose his temper because someone else had lost theirs, he’d end up in trouble more often than not. It was nothing new to him, this inability to properly control himself and his reactions to others - but he’d gotten it reigned in somewhat over the years. At least he thought he had. But sometimes, when the rushing in his head was too much, his reactivity broke free, and he’d snap back just as he did then, deliberately contrary and antagonistic.

“Why? At least he’s something special, at least he’s got actual powers. Batman is just some rich dude with too much time on his hands and a bat obsession.”  
Lance gasped, stopping in his tracks to shoot Keith an outrageously shocked look.

“You take that back!” He said, in an oddly hushed tone that belied the flare of anger in his eyes.

“Why should I?” Keith muttered irritably, stopping a few paces ahead of Lance and half-turning to look back at him. “If I had money I could be Batman too.”

“He's not just some rich dude,” Lance exclaimed, and Keith couldn’t tell if his indignantly offended tone was real or just put on for show. “He's such a deep character!”

“He's boring,” Keith shot back disinterestedly. He didn't even know why he was arguing about it, it wasn't like he gave a crap about the characters. He'd never even read the comics, all he knew about them was whatever he'd read randomly online. 

“Boring?” Lance looked like Keith had shot his dog. And maybe, Keith thought, Lance was feeling  _ his _ negative vibes, because there was no other reason to explain why Lance was getting so worked up about something as stupid as comic book characters.

“Listen, you,” Lance said angrily, taking several steps forward so he could poke Keith in the chest. “Batman is a testament to human endurance. He moved on from tragedy to make something of himself, and like help people and shit.”

Somewhere ahead of them Hunk and Pidge must have stopped as well because Keith could hear them on the periphery, though he could just barely hear them.

“You know what I said to Shay when I was leaving?” Hunk was saying, as Pidge snickered in the background. “I said Shay, I'm going to have a great time tonight. I'm going out to see a cool movie with my friends and it's going to be awesome.”

“Think we can lose them if we just walk away really fast?” Pidge asked in a loud whisper.

“Can't hurt to try,” Hunk whispered back.

Keith glanced towards them just in time to see them turn to leave, but before he could react Lance was calling out loudly,

“Hey you, what are you two doing?” 

Lance sounded downright pissed off, though he didn't move from where he stood by Keith. “I thought we were going to go eat something?”

He was all harsh lines right then, stiff and sharp and silently volatile, and Keith could barely stand there next to him. His heart was beginning to pound and his skin was prickling because he realized that Lance was actually pissed, Lance was  _ actually _ pissed.

“Yeaaahh that was the original plan,” Hunk said, turning back to shoot them both a sheepish grin. Keith barely glanced at him, his focus drawn to Lance.

“I'm starving, I need food to fuel my rage at this injustice.” Lance waved in Keith’s direction. Keith huffed, dodging his gaze back to Hunk and Pidge where they stood several feet down the sidewalk. Pidge looked unamused, frowning slightly when her eyes met Keith’s. Keith looked at Hunk instead.

“If going out to eat means putting up with more Batman-Superman arguments between you two, then no.” Hunk was saying firmly, hands and on hips as he give Lance a stern look.

“Hunk!” Lance sounding shocked and offended. Putting a hand on his chest, he asked, “You'd let me  _ starve _ ?”

“I'd let you starve right now.” Keith muttered, contrary for the sake of being contrary, and crossed his arms. His head was pounding, and his patience had been worn thin long before. Lance shot him a dirty look in response, crossing his arms as well and snapping back in a huff,

“That's because you're a jerk. A stupid, Superman loving stupid  _ jerk _ .”

“Oh my fucking god,” Pidge groaned, arms dropping and head rolling back so she could shoot a frustrated look up at the sky. “Can you two talk about something you actually agree about? Like planes!” - she spun around to face them, feigning excitement as if she was talking to children - “You two like planes, right? Jet planes? Whoosh?”

The last sound effect was accompanied by a swipe of her hand through the air.

“Ugh, I guess,” Lance grumbled, heaving a sigh. He gave Keith a sour look and asked, “What's your favorite plane?”

Keith, fighting to tamp down the irritated spark that was threatening to flare inside of him and trying to salvage what was left of that night, took a moment to just  _ breathe _ before he responded.

“The F-35.”

“What!” Lance spread his arms out in outraged shock, and that little spark of annoyance inside Keith burst into flames because  _ what the fuck did he do now? _ He gritted his teeth as Lance continued haughtily, “Why? The F-22 is obviously superior-”

“Superior? It’s over eighty years old,” Keith shot back, his patience gone, his nerves beyond frayed and his head pounding and his entire being absolutely  _ done _ with that day and the world and absolutely everything in it. If he had little control over himself earlier, he had absolutely none left right then. “It’s  _ ancient _ . It’s a piece of plane-shaped junk that just aerodynamic enough to still fly.”

“Junk?  _ Junk _ ? You know what I think is  _ junk _ ?” Lance retorted loudly, his own composure disappearing right along with Keith’s, “A plane whose engines have a melt down every other take off!”

“Okay, this isn’t helping.” Hunk said anxiously, and Keith wanted to snap at him, tell him to shut up or something, anything, but he was too busy dealing with Lance and his stupid need to argue about every fucking little thing.

“The engines have been working fine for  _ years _ , what do you even know about it?!” Keith’s words were getting ahead of him, he knew it, he barely heard was he was saying, could barely keep up with his own tongue. Everything was getting very loud and very distinct, from the cars driving down the street to the glare of the streetlamps they stood under to the flash of Lance’s eyes and the curve of his scowl. He was still in Keith’s face, his fists clenched at his sides and he looked so angry suddenly, a deep burning anger and Keith knew it was wrong - it was wrong, this whole argument was wrong and continuing it was wrong and he didn’t want to be there, locked in a glare-down with Lance. He didn’t want to be arguing with him over something as stupid and unnecessary as jet planes. He just wanted it to  _ stop _ and somehow his brain decided that the only way to keep the argument from evolving even further was if he managed to somehow  _ shut Lance up _ so when Lance bit back with a sullen,

“Well what do  _ you _ even know about it, Mr. I know everything about jet planes?”

Keith spat, 

“Maybe I know shit about them because I actually flew them?”

He knew it was a mistake as the words left his mouth, felt the bitterness of that realization rise right behind them, choking him as he saw the hurt blossom in Lance’s eyes while  the silence fell heavy and thick between them. 

And then Lance was shoving him, hard, nearly knocking him off his feet as he spat “Fuck you  _ fuck you _ ” in his face. Keith raised his hands defensively, his head whirling far too fast for him to do anything else. He’d done it again -  _ he’d fucking done it again _ \- and it  _ hurt _ , seeing the look in Lance’s eyes. Keith could’ve stabbed him, could’ve left him in a gutter somewhere and he didn’t think he’d see such look of pain and betrayal. His heart was pounding, his pulse racing, he hadn’t wanted any of this to happen and now that it had he didn’t know how to stop it. How could he stop it?

He should say something, probably, get his mouth moving even if he didn’t know what was going to come out of it, but it was too late - Lance was stalking away down the sidewalk, shoulders hunched and strides long and heavy. Keith’s gut twisted at the sight, the irritation and anger inside of him sputtering out and leaving him feeling cold and empty. All the more room for the guilt that was waking inside of him, clawing and biting and shuddering his nerves.

“That was cold, man,” Hunk said, shooting Keith a disappointed look over his shoulder as he headed off after Lance. 

“Oh my fucking god Keith,” Pidge stalked over to where Keith stood and before he could protest smacked him in the arm, hard enough to sting sharply.

“Stop it,” Keith growled, defensive, and Pidge glared right back at him, unimpressed and undaunted. 

“No, you  _ idiot _ .” Pidge slapped him again, and Keith finally took a step back even if it only barely deterred her. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

“I don't know I got pissed!” Keith looked away from her, his heart still loud in his head. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“That's no fucking excuse Keith!” Pidge exclaimed, stepping towards him again and Keith found himself backing away again warily. “What would you even be pissed about?”

“I don't know,” Keith snapped. He felt like fighting, still, like hurting something, his entire body ringing with agitation, with frustration. 

“Are you sure you like him?” Pidge asked coldly, her words cutting deep. Hands on her hips, she eyed him critically.. “Because this right now doesn't look like it.”

“Just leave me alone, all right?” Keith couldn’t meet her gaze. The anger, the frustration, he could still feel it coiling round and round within him, hot and and suffocating and burning in his joints. 

“You’re doing it again,” Pidge said evenly, anger in her eyes and in the set of her jaw. “I can’t believe you’re doing it  _ again _ .”

“Shut u-”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Pidge yelled - _ yelled at him _ \- and then she reached out and shoved him, hard. “God, what is wrong with you? You weren't like this with any of the others, and I don't think you liked them half as much as you like Lance.”

Keith looked away, biting his lip to keep another nasty comment from breaking free. He wasn’t angry at her, because she was absolutely right. He didn't know how to explain any of it to her, didn’t know how to tell her that none of the others were like this, that none of the relationships resonated quite like this, that he didn't react to them quite so much because he didn't  _ feel _ them like he felt Lance. None of them had affected him the way Lance did. 

None of them mattered like Lance did.

He didn’t think it would make sense, and he didn’t think she’d understand, but he knew even if she did it sure as hell wouldn’t excuse him right then. 

“Whatever,” Pidge ground out through gritted teeth, frustration tainting every syllable. “Go!”

“What, where?” Keith faltered, caught off guard by her words. 

“Home, go home, and think about what you’ve done,” Pidge said, pointing fiercely into the distance.  Keith found himself looking in the opposite direction, off to where he could just barely see Hunk and Lance standing in front of a convenience store all the way down the block. His teeth clenched, but not in anger this time. He felt like screaming, knowing just how badly he’d fucked up. He felt like wrecking something, with the adrenaline flaring through him and the emotions crowding his head. He felt like  _ doing _ \- like kicking something, or dropping to the ground under the weight of it all, or walking over to Lance and fighting to make things right again even if he knew he wouldn’t be able to with the bitter grit inside him right then.

Instead, he spared Pidge and her uncompromising glare one last look, then turned on his heel and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think ;) No but seriously I love hearing from you all


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think I was going to get this out as soon as I have, but hey! This works! And it's a nice chunk of reading at 7000+
> 
> If you haven't noticed, I've set up a series for this story (and the coming sequels) titled Blood Trails. I may change the title, may not. Just setting it up for when the sequels come along.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [JustBloodCamThings Updates tagged as BloodCam fic (with spaces)](http://justbloodcamthings.tumblr.com)
> 
> Now on Twitter - [itsdetachable on Twitter BloodCam updates will be tagged bloodcamfic](http://www.twitter.com/itsdetachable)
> 
> Let me know what you think!

The dispatch center was a concert hall of calls that morning, but Keith could barely pay attention to any of it. He answered his lines mechanically, running through the script and filling in the information on the loads but barely noticing what he was doing. His thoughts were far away, hung up like a skipping record on the massively shitty shit he’d done the night before. 

The full weight of what he'd done hadn't really hit until he was back in the dark apartment, nothing but silence greeting him. He’d spent the drive home blaming everyone but himself - Lance for being so annoying and not knowing when to just drop it, Pidge for getting on his case, even Hunk for...for he didn't know what. Everyone was to blame, somehow, the world was  _ obviously _ out to get him that day and everything would've been  _ fine _ if everyone had just left him alone.

But there he had been, standing in the shadows of the apartment, finally alone just like he wanted - and suddenly feeling so very, very small. It wasn't their job to put up with his shitty moods, Keith knew that. They weren't mind readers, they didn't know what was going on with him. Fuck, he didn't even know what was going on with him, so how could he expect them to?

All he knew was that he got like this sometimes, got so wound up and detached and irritable that every little thing set him off. If he was completely honest with himself, he'd gotten used to not having to deal with people when he was like that - Pidge had zero tolerance for taking shit from anyone, and would usually leave him alone whenever he became too unreasonable, and he wasn't exactly a social butterfly when he felt like crap. It was just easier to avoid everything until he was in a better place to handle things, and he hadn't been forced out of his comfort zone like he had been lately in a very, very long time.

It was beyond time to change his ways in regards to how he handled himself during those types of moods. Pidge had told him before, it wasn't good for him, or for anyone around him, to keep ignoring the issue and pretending things were fine. At the very least, he could admit when he’d been shitty - and he'd been the absolutely worst type of shitty that night.

So he resolved to go to Lance’s place straight after work to apologize. From what he could remember, Lance had a shift starting around four that afternoon, so if Keith skipped his latte and headed straight over he could maybe have an hour and a half to talk to Lance before he had to get to work. It had to be better than waiting to talk to him afterwards, and Keith knew himself well enough to know that that sort of urgency would be just the thing to push him to act.

He’d go and he’d talk with Lance - that is, if Lance even wanted to talk to him. For the second time in as many months, Keith had been downright horrible to him, and he wouldn't be surprised if Lance slammed the door in his face when he got there.

God, Keith worried suddenly, what if Lance finally realized just how horrible a person he was? What if he decided that it was too much, that he didn't want to have anything to do with him anymore? 

Keith wasn't sure how he would take that, the mere thought of Lance hating him enough to never want to see him again chilled him. It made him want to go back home and hide in his room and hope that everything would fall back together again without him - if he just...pretended nothing had happened strongly enough then  _ maybe it would have never happened _ .

But that was what he always did, and it never worked out. And despite what Pidge had said, despite how horrible he was, he liked Lance. He liked Lance  _ a lot _ , and he'd gotten so used to him being around already that he couldn't imagine having to go on without him. Apologizing was the least he could do, but that wasn't enough, he knew that. He'd need to work harder at this whole relationship if he wanted to keep from hurting Lance again. He'd need to learn how to control his irrational outbursts, learn how to manage his stresses, learn how to not be a complete dick to people. And this time, for Lance, he wanted to.

  
.

 

After work he headed over, his mind racing with thoughts of what he could say. “I'm sorry” just wasn't enough, but by the time he'd parked on Lance’s street and walked to his house Keith still had no idea what he could say to make things better. Honesty as the best policy hadn’t always worked for him before, but maybe that was what was needed there and then. So he’d try, at the very least, to explain things. Maybe, maybe he’d get lucky and Lance would be willing to listen.

It didn’t help that he still felt fuzzy, his body indistinct in his awareness and his head swimming. He felt like he was running a fever, even though he knew he wasn’t - all shudders and unfocused thoughts. He really, really didn't want to deal with any of this right then, but he knew it could only get worse if he didn't do something. So he took a breath to steady himself, tried to force his brain to focus, and rang the doorbell. 

It was a long while before the door opened. Keith could've sworn he heard someone step up the door a good minute or two before it actually opened. 

Lance didn't say anything, and Keith was at a loss for words. He could only stare at Lance for the moment, noting the cold look in his eyes and the stiff set of his shoulders, the way he looked like he was ready for a fight. Keith didn't want to fight. He just wanted to make things okay again.

“Can I come in?” He asked quietly, almost scared of breaking the silence between them. Lance’s eyes narrowed, but then he nodded and stepped back into the apartment. Keith followed, closing the doors behind him and stepping into the front room.

The tv was on but muted, and there was an empty cereal bowl on the coffee table. The sunlight filtered through the curtains that Lance had put up on the front windows, soft and luminous. The room, the apartment, had already become familiar to Keith, by right then it felt alien.

Lance stood in the middle of the room, watching Keith with an unreadable expression and still having not said a word, and Keith found it unsettling. It was wrong, to have Lance there and not speaking, not making a sound.

“I'm sorry,” Keith said softly, and it was weird being the one to speak first. Lance’s expression didn't change, and Keith went on hesitantly, “I'm sorry for yesterday. Not just..not just for what I said, but for the whole day. I was a jerk.”

“Yeah, you were,” Lance said coolly, crossing his arms. Keith tucked his hands into his jacket pockets to keep from mimicking Lance’s pose and licked his lips.

“I really like you,” Keith said, ignoring the flutter in his chest at the words, but Lance gave a snort at that. “I do, I just...sometimes when I get like that I start picking up on whether someone's pissy and it just gets worse. And I could tell you were irritated with me by the time we left the theater and I just-”

“What, so it's my fault?” Lance said, looking even colder than a moment before.

“No, that's not what I meant.” Keith hurried to clarify, but Lance cut him off again, snappy,

“That's what it sounded like.”

Keith had to force himself a step back mentally, take a breath and reword himself. That was no moment to start an argument. And though it had been a short time that they'd known each other, he was starting to realize that  _ this _ was something Lance did - automatically assume that  _ he _ was the guilty party if anything happened, or assume that he was being blamed for it. It was something reactive too, defensive - where Keith tended to close off, bite only when pushed too far or if he got riled up, Lance tended to bite back immediately, as if he were already anticipating what he imagined was to come. Keith didn't want to let him think he was the one in the wrong, didn't want him to think he was being blamed here, and fought to keep from snapping right back at him like his frayed nerves wanted him to. 

“It's my fault, I was the one in a shitty mood and you didn't know why, and you were just reacting to me. You didn't deserve any of that,” Keith said instead, and this time Lance wasn't cutting him off. It wasn't the easiest thing for him to do, admitting he was wrong, fighting t _ o keep fighting for it _ instead of just letting things go, and there was a constant shudder in his spine, a bitter taste in his mouth. There was any number of ways this could go and he was...fuck, he  _ might've _ been just a little scared of the outcome. Still, Keith pushed on, “You’ve been putting up with so much shit from me lately-” Lance shifted slightly at that “-and you shouldn't have to. It's not fair to you.”

Keith paused, and he noticed that Lance wasn't quite as stiff as before, his shoulders relaxed a bit, even if he hadn't spoken yet. 

“You deserve better, Lance and I… Give me a chance, I'll work harder, I promise.”

Lance sighed, and he looked tired then, like the whole situation was drawing all the energy out of him.

“It's all right,” He said finally, shrugging, his tone midway between noncommittal and defeated, “I already knew you were moody.”

Fuck, if Keith had a dollar for every time someone had called him moody…

“It's not all right,” Keith said angrily, wincing at his own tone. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “It's not an excuse, okay? I shouldn't have acted like that to you, I shouldn't have said anything...about flying or whatever…”

“Yeah, well, it was the truth so…” Lance shrugged, looking away with a dejected look on his face, gaze lowered, and it hurt Keith to see it. Keith might not have been the most perceptive most days, and his head might still have been reeling from the day before, but he wasn't an idiot. Lance wasn't talking about flying experience - except he was, but that… that wasn't _it._ He wasn't talking about Keith having flown and him haven't having the chance - he was talking about how Keith was good enough and _he wasn't._

“It wasn't,” Keith said, and when Lance opened his mouth to respond he cut him off, saying firmly, “I'm not talking about flying, Lance.”

Lance looked back at him then, that little frown still on his face, his eyes dark, and Keith met his gaze, did his best to hold it as he said,

“I'm not better than you, Lance, and you...you're not worse than me. You're  _ definitely _ not worse than me.”

Lance’s expression changed then, suddenly far more open, the hurt far more apparent even as he grinned weakly.

“Sure.”

“Lance…” Keith didn't know how to fix it, how to get that sad look of of Lance’s face.

“It's all right, okay?” Lance said with a lengthy sigh, “I appreciate you actually apologizing, that was nice, but it's okay.”

That was wrong, Lance’s reaction to the apology was wrong, and Keith didn't know how to make it better. He had to figure something out, figure out a way to show Lance that...that he was worth something. That he wasn't worse because of some technicality. Keith couldn't think of anything, right then, but he'd figure it out. He had to. Lance was accepting his apology far too easily, he was nowhere near as mad as he had the right to be, and that….that meant something. Keith's head wasn't in the right place to figure out just  _ what _ , but it meant something.

He'd figure it out, once his brain wasn't being such a fuck, and he'd find a way to fix it. For now, he just wanted to get that dejected look off Lance’s face.

“When do you start your shift?” Keith asked, even though he already had an idea.

“Four?” Lance answered, slightly puzzled by the sudden shift in the conversation.

“Do you wanna go grab a coffee then, before your shift starts?” Keith asked, and Lance’s puzzled expression shifted to pleased surprise. 

“Uh, yeah, if you want to,” He said, still a bit reserved but he was grinning, and that was already loads better than a few moments earlier.

“Yeah, that's kind of why I asked,” Keith said, feeling some of the tension easing from his nerves. “My treat.

“Well in that case…” Lance grinned, and it was cheeky and almost back to normal, “I know a place.”  

Keith grinned as he waited for Lance to grab his jacket and keys and things, relieved that things had worked out, at least somewhat. He'd figure out how to boost Lance’s self esteem eventually, but right then he was just happy they were okay enough to go grab coffee together.

“You can tell me, you know,” Lance said as they headed out the door. “If you're having a rough day. I'd understand.”

Keith didn't know how to answer, and he couldn't lift his eyes to meet Lance’s as they walked down the street. There he was, somehow making it about helping Keith again, like that was all that mattered at that moment.

“I get that sometimes you just don't want to do anything and forcing you to do shit is probably a bad idea so, you know, just tell me? Because otherwise you get snarky, and I get pissed, and you get all defensive and angry and so do I and…” Lance sighed, and looked at Keith. “It's all so fucking unnecessary. I swear, I'll understand if you don't want to do something or if you'd rather stay home or whatever.”

“But I promised you I'd go.” Keith protested, “I didn't want you to think I was brushing you off or something.”

“Keith, we could've gone some other time,” Lance said, “It wouldn't have been a big deal.”

It still didn't lay right with Keith, and part of him was irked at the thought of how understanding Lance was being, how understanding he'd been since the moment he moved into the apartment. Keith was certain he didn't deserve it.

“You don't have to do that,” He said to Lance.

“Do what?”

“What you're doing,” Keith mumbled, kicking at a stray leaf on the sidewalk. “Thinking about me and shit.”

“Oh… Yeah, well,” Lance nodded, then bumped Keith's shoulder with his own and grinned. “I want to.”

Keith honestly didn't know how to respond to that, but even if had known he didn't think he'd be able to squeeze the words out past the tight lump in his chest. For a moment they walked on in silence, dodging people on the sidewalk as Lance led the way down the main street. There were several art boutiques along the way, an old record store and a vegan bakery with some impressive cakes on display, and a pub that looked like it had been around longer than the neighborhood.

“You're gonna love this place,” Lance said as they turned a corner, grinning at Keith. “I just found it a few days ago and I knew I had to bring you to see it.”

“It’s that special?” Keith said with a wry grin, and Lance chuckled, stopping in front of a storefront and turning to Keith with an expectant look on his face. 

For a second Keith wondered why he'd stopped so suddenly, until he realized they must've been at the cafe. Turning to face the doors, he took a step forward, only to have Lance grab his arm and pull him back.

“No, no, look first,” He said excitedly, pulling Keith back a few more steps before waving his hand at the storefront and repeating, with a flourish, “Look at it.”

So Keith looked. The door was set back from the sidewalk, situated between two large window displays - similar to several other storefronts they'd passed before. The building was old, the doorframe and window frames made of dark-stained wood that was carved into gentle designs. Above the entrance hung a metal stamped sign, proclaiming in jaunty font that they stood in front of “Wormhole Cafe”. The left window was left undecorated, a small table set in front of it, but in the right window…

“Is that a Delor-” Keith paused, looking again to confirm his suspicions, “Is that the  _ time machine _ ?”

“Yes!” Lance exclaimed happily, and he grabbed Keith’s arm again, this time to pull him towards the door. “Come on!”

Keith's senses whirled dizzyingly as they entered the cafe, the scent of coffee rich and thick in the air. Music played softly from the overhead speakers, retro beats he just barely recognized, a backdrop to the hum of conversation at the tables and the clatter behind the counter.

His eyes were drawn to the Delorean first, an excellent replica of the time machine from Back To The Future II, complete with a Mr. Fusion reactor and tilted wheels and mounted to make it look like it was hovering a couple feet off the ground. 

Above it hung the framed posters from all three movies, and as his eyes traveled further along the wall he saw that other posters were hung up as well; E. T., Gremlins, Ghostbusters, Indiana Jones, Blade Runner, The Empire Strikes Back, The Princess Bride, The Thing, The Terminator and Labyrinth all shared a wall with the Delorean. Weird Science and Beetlejuice hung on the back wall, while a large copy of The Lost Boys movie poster hung next to the cafe’s menu. Shelves towards the back held what looked like an assortment of Lego models and Pez dispensers.

“What the fuck,” Keith breathed, but it was in a sort of astonishment rather than disgust. He looked up, and there was a Rubik's cube chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A chandelier. Made of Rubik's cubes.

“I know, right?” Lance said happily somewhere near Keith’s ear, and Keith shuddered at the sudden ghosting of breath against it. “Wait till you see the cookies.”

Lance led the way to the counter, Keith still gazing around at the sea of retro furnishings and mementos, slightly lost and not knowing if it was because his general state of being those days, or if he was just overwhelmed by everything around him.

“Where did they get all of this?” He asked as they stepped up to the counter, but the response didn't come from Lance.

“Collectors, mostly, and the owner had quite a few things of their own,” The lady behind the counter said, smiling brightly at them. She looked slightly older than them, with warm brown eyes and hair dyed several shades of purple and teal. “What can I get you boys?”

“You wanna look at the menu a bit?” Lance asked, and Keith nodded. While he looked up at the menu Lance ordered for himself, “I'll get a large of whatever today's special is, aaaand… oooh, the Tetris cookies. Let's get a couple of those. Red and blue.”

Tetris cookies...dragging his gaze away from the menu board that was making little sense to him at the moment anyways, Keith looked at the pastry case to see that yes, the cafe had Tetris block cookies. They also had Pacman shaped rice krispie treats and Ghost shaped sugar cookies (each ghost a different color) alongside regular cafe fare like croissants and muffins. 

It was way too much for Keith at the moment, however. Not anxiety-inducing too much, but definitely mind-boggling can't-focus too much. He looked at Lance, hoping to ask him for his suggestion, but his words caught in his throat before he could speak.

Lance was talking to the lady behind the counter, and he was smiling in that self-sure way he did, and he was just...fuck, there was just something in the moment that made Keith's heart stutter, made his eyes catch on the way Lance’s mouth formed words, how the outside sunlight glanced at just the right angle to light his eyes, how fluidly his expression shifted as he spoke. It wasn't like Keith had forgotten that he enjoyed looking at Lance, but sometimes it was like his brain restarted itself, or maybe the angles and lines of Lance himself arranged themselves slightly differently, and Keith was suddenly reminded of just how attracted he was to him.

He looked away, slightly embarrassed at catching himself staring - how fucking ridiculous was that - and glanced up at the menu again. He still wasn't sure what to get, but every coffee place made mochas, and that was a drink he never regretted getting. Finally deciding, he carefully looked back at Lance - and yep, he still looked damned attractive - trying to think of how to interrupt him seeing as he was in the middle of either explaining something to the lady, or telling her a story. Usually, Keith just said his name, loudly and clearly until Lance finally reacted but this time…

Grinning to himself, and watching Lance out of the corner of his eye, Keith slowly reached out and grabbed his hand, curling his fingers around and giving it a slight squeeze.

Now, for the most part, hand holding wasn't exactly some monumental occasion, and considering how close they'd already been with each other - and how Lance practically took every occasion he had to cuddle or hug or just plain touch Keith in some way - it really shouldn't have been a big deal. But it had a reaction anyways, Lance’s words stuttering to a stop as he turned a surprised, though pleased, look Keith's way. 

Keith hadn't been expecting him to just up and stop talking like the world had stopped turning; so maybe he wasn't usually the one to close the gaps between them, it wasn't  _ that _ much of a surprise. But for once that week his head was caught up with his situation, and before Lance could put his pleased look into words Keith blurted out,

“What, never held hands with someone before?”

The lady behind the counter let out a surprised laugh, and Lance rolled his eyes to the ceiling, muttering something beneath his breath that Keith didn't quite catch. He caught the look on his face though, that grin and the flush on his cheeks, and it felt good to have that effect on Lance. 

“Shut up and order your drink,” Lance said finally, tone amused, and tugged Keith closer to the register by their joined hands. 

“I'll have a medium mocha, soy please,” Keith said to the lady. She looked horribly amused, her grin wide and warm. 

“That'll be thirteen twenty eight,” She said, and Keith tried to reach for his pocket - and realized that he was in a predicament. His wallet was in his back right pocket, and his right hand was currently held tight by Lance - too tight. Keith was certain that if he looked at him right then, Lance would have that cocky ass smirk on his face. He just knew it.

Awkwardly, he reached back with his left hand instead, ignoring the silent chuckles coming from Lance, and with some effort opened it on the counter and pulled out a twenty.

“Put the rest in the tip jar, please,” He said with a grin, deciding the lady deserved the extra tip considering she was putting up with their ridiculousness.

“Thank you hun,” The lady said, “I'll have your drinks and cookies out in just a few.”

They headed over to a table beneath The Thing poster, Lance swinging their joined hands slightly as they walked, a pleased grin on his face. 

“We should talk about something,” He said as they sat down, hands still clasped together on the table top. Keith wondered when he'd get tired of the whole holding hands thing. Knowing Lance, he'd probably make it a competition to see which one of them gave up first. Fuck, that could last a while…

“Like what?” Keith asked, brushing his thumb along the knuckles of Lance’s hand. It felt nice, it felt comfortable. He was beginning to feel sleepy; the buzz of anxiety that had filled him all day having fallen away now that the talk was over, and the warmth in his chest from being able to hold Lance’s hand, to see him smile, making him drowsy with relief and happiness. His head still whirled slowly, his thoughts half-lost and foggy, but it was somehow easier to manage them than before, easier to get a grip on them. 

“What about the weather, huh?” Lance said with an unhappy frown, “They're saying it's going to be in the low fifties next week!”

“Its October, Lance, what did you expect?” Keith raised an eyebrow. 

“Ugh I don't know,” Lance groaned. “I don't like the cold.”

“Low fifties isn't cold.” Keith said with a teasing grin.

“I wasn't born on Antarctica, okay,” Lance replied, “I'm not used to cold weather.”

“How long have you lived in this city again?”

“That doesn't matter!” Lance said hurriedly. “What matters is that winter is coming and it's going to be  _ cold _ and the sun won't be out, it's just gonna suck okay?”

“Here you go, boys.”

The coffee lady stepped up to their table, and they made room for her to place two cups and a plate with the cookies on it in on the table between them. The Tetris cookies were two z shapes that fit together, and Keith found himself thinking how oddly appropriate it was.

“We would've come up to get them,” Lance said, but the lady waved his words away.

“You looked busy,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “Now enjoy, and let me know if you need anything.”

She headed off, and Keith pulled his mocha over to himself. She'd left the caps off, laying them on the table, so he could see that she'd made a leaf out of the foam on top. 

“I get what you mean about the sun,” Keith said, taking a sip of his latte. It was surprisingly creamy, the flavor rich and chocolatey but with the slightly bitter kick of the espresso. “But the cold isn't bad - but maybe I'm just used to it.”

“Did you grow up here?” Lance asked, picking up the blue cookie and taking a bite.

“No, I grew up in Colorado.” Keith said, eyes flickering aimlessly to the movie posters on the wall.

“Like, in the mountains?” Lance asked, interested, and Keith considered a moment before responding.

“Mostly Denver, but…” There was a pulse in his head, soft but insistent, and the fuzzy feeling was growing. Frowning, he breathed deeply and forced himself to think past that time. “I was only there till the end of high school. I applied for the Garrison before I aged out, and my test scores were decent enough for them to accept me. As soon as I turned eighteen and finished high school I headed down to Nevada, since it was the western facility.”

Keith felt Lance’s eyes on him, and when he turned his gaze back he found Lance eyeing him curiously, a pensive look on his face. For a moment, Keith worried that Lance would try to dig deeper, ask more questions about when he was younger - but then Lance gave his hand a squeeze, offering a reassuring smile as he said,

“That’s where you met Pidge, right?”

“Yeah,” Keith breathed, feeling the tension ease in his shoulders. This was a better topic, a much more welcome one.

“How'd that work, she's like…way younger than us.” Lance asked, shoving the rest of the cookie into his mouth. Keith still hadn't touched his, and he picked it up then, turning it in his fingers.

“Her brother,” And maybe the thought of Matt still sent a tiny shudder of nervousness down Keith's spine, but right then it wasn't quite as bad as before. Right then, Keith remembered that despite their last meeting - and quarrel - Matt was a decent guy who didn't like causing problems for others, not without reason. So that little shudder faded as he continued,, “He talked about Pidge to all the instructors, and at first they didn't want to believe him because her test scores were shit - she said wasting her brain power on idiotic standardized testing was blasphemous - but Matt dragged her in to take a practical programming test and she blew them away.”

“She's that good?” Lance looked impressed, “I mean, I knew she's good but she had to be, what…”

“Fourteen,” Keith supplied.

“Holy shit.”

Keith grinned, feeling proud of Pidge. They'd been through alot together in those years since the Garrison, and even though Pidge had stayed at the Garrison longer than he had, she still doggedly maintained contact with him. Keith would always be grateful to her for that. When she’d reached out to him about living together in the city, he’d been surprised, but it had turned out to be a great idea. They got along well together.

Keith assumed that Lance would continue with his questions, but surprisingly he didn't. In fact, he looked absolutely content to just sit there, sipping his latte and letting his eyes wander around the cafe, an easy little grin on his face, and for a moment they sat there in comfortable silence.. Keith finally bit into his cookie, savoring the crispness of it, the way it crumbled on his tongue. He didn't feel like going home, he wanted to just stay in that moment forever. Even the static in his head and his wandering focus couldn't mar it. Still, he knew it had to end - Lance had to get to work, and Keith had to go home before he collapsed somewhere or something. He really didn't want to leave Lance however, but...a thought came to him, and he grinned to himself, slightly hesitant, wondering…

“Hey, Lance,” He asked, maybe unsure, maybe anxious, “Can I come over tomorrow night?”

Lance looked at him curiously, “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, if you want me to, I mean. I can help...after.”

And Lance’s expression went soft then, eyes brightening as a grin spread across his face, and for a moment he just  _ looked _ at Keith, like he was trying to process what he'd said or something. 

“Yeah, I'd like that.” He said finally, softly, and the warmth trembled within Keith's chest and tingled through his limbs, and he thought -  _ they'd be all right. _

  
-

 

“What is this?”

Keith set the orange juice back in the fridge and turned to Lance with a puzzled look. The other man was seated at the kitchen table, sipping his juice through a twisty straw and peering with an amused look at Keith’s phone. He’d stolen it the moment Keith walked in the door, claiming his own had died in the middle of a  _ serious _ discussion with Hunk and that he needed to continue it somehow. As far as Keith could tell, the discussion consisted of a lot of memes and several paragraphs of song lyrics. He couldn't imagine what it was they were discussing but considering how intently Lance had been typing back for the past half hour, it had to be… engaging, if not important.

“What?” Keith asked finally, walking over to Lance.

“What is this? An email from Cryptid Weekly?” Lance asked shooting an amused look at Keith, eyebrows raised. “And they're asking for your opinion on some cryptid sighting?”

Keith could feel himself flushing, even as Lance continued, “They're calling you a cryptid expert?”

“Why are you reading my emails?” Keith snapped, trying to grab his phone - but Lance was too quick. He pulled his hand away, standing up from his chair as Keith advanced.

“Dude, calm down, it popped up while I was typing and I accidentally tapped it open,” Lance said, barely holding back chuckles.

“Give me the phone, Lance,” Keith said, glaring at him as he gauged how best to corner him.

“I didn't know you were like, a studied cryptozoologist,” Lance said, and laughter was coming through his words now, even as he rushed around the table to keep Keith at bay. “Why don't you tell me these things?”

“I swear to fucking god,” Keith growled, dashing around the table. Lance let out a surprised laugh and darted off towards the bedroom, Keith's fingers just barely grazing his back.

“Give it back!”

“Make me, Bigfoot Hunter!” Lance laughed as he slid inside the bedroom, swinging the door in an attempt to shut it. Keith got his foot and shoulder in the gap, though, and for a moment they struggled, Lance with his back pressed against the door, Keith trying to lever it open with his body.

“Look at this, the week’s discussion topic is the Mokele-Mbembe,” Lance called out, “What is that even?”

“Its an elusive dinosaur cryptid from the Congo!” Keith called back, and with a grunt shoved  _ hard _ against the door. Lance toppled forward, scrambling to keep on his feet as he cried out.

“Shit, shit,” He was still laughing though, spinning around to face Keith and holding the phone high above his head. Keith grinned wickedly at him, and before Lance could react he rushed him. There was nowhere to go but  _ back,  _ but thankfully Lance had backed up all the way to the bed (he'd probably planned it, the fucker) and they fell onto it in a heap. 

It was ridiculous, how often they ended up wrestling over stupid things. Shortly before Lance had moved out they'd wrestled for the remote, and just a week earlier Keith had put him in a headlock for joking that aliens weren't real. And there they were again, laughing breathlessly as they tangled with each other once more. 

For a moment Lance kept Keith at bay - a subtle reminder that while Lance worked out regularly enough to keep his arms toned so nicely, Keith had slowly lost his form as his own workouts petered out - but then, with a burst of energy, Keith managed to disentangle Lance’s arms and pin him to the bed.

They'd been fighting over the phone, but Keith didn't know where it was right then, honestly didn't care. Lance was still grinning brightly up at him, chuckling as he tried half-heartedly to free himself from Keith’s hold, and fuck he looked  _ pretty _ , his hair messed up and his cheeks flushed with the exertion, Keith could stare at him for hours, just drinking in the sight of him, Keith could - Keith  _ did _ kiss him, leaning down low and pressing their lips together, loosing his hold on Lance’s arms so he could balance himself.

Lance made a happy sound deep in his throat, the vibrations reaching Keith as their mouths opened and tongues tangled. His hands found Keith’s sides, stroking eagerly down to the small of his back, and they kissed like they'd missed each other for years, like it was more important than breathing, like they could find the secret to life there in the heat of their touches and the meeting of their lips. 

Keith ran a hand down Lance’s neck, down his chest where he could feel the firmness of his muscle beneath the softness of his shirt. He lo...he  _ loved _ how Lance felt, how his body fit so seamlessly against his own, like they were two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together. He loved touching him and holding him and knowing he was real and right there with him and he loved how, when he allowed himself to be that close and to just feel it, everything else just slipped away.

They shifted, legs slotting between each other, and Lance’s fingers found their way up the back of Keith's shirt. His fingertips ghosted across bare skin, and Keith felt the shudder race up his spine, welcomed it with a grin as he sucked on Lance’s lower lip, enjoying the groan it drew out of him. Lance stroked a hand up his back, palm coming to rest hot and welcome on Keith's shoulder blade. Keith shifted under the weight of it, enjoying the spread of warmth across his skin radiating from the touch. 

Something  _ happened _ , however - Keith wasn't sure what it was, whether the shifting of posture that brought their crotches together or the realization that Lance was touching far more of his bare skin than he ever had before or some irrational fear that things were going too far but… Something happened, and Keith had to shove away, breaking contact in one quick motion, hands on Lance’s shoulders to keep him pinned against the bed. His heart was pounding, panicked and uneven.

For a moment Lance just stared up at him, looking  _ wrecked _ and confused as hell, lips falling into a slight pout, and Keith felt worry flare across his nerves. Then Lance laughed, hands rubbing Keith's forearms soothingly and slowly.

“Sorry, babe.” He said, grinning fondly, “But you can just tell me if I'm making you uncomfortable, you know? Not that I mind you getting rough but.. “

Keith let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, the tension in his shoulders slipping away. This was Lance, he reminded himself, and Lance wouldn't… he'd had plenty of chances before and he'd never.. With a sigh, Keith lowered himself back down, sliding his arms up around Lance’s head and nuzzing his neck. Lance curled his own arms around Keith gently, kissing along his jawline and down his neck. Keith relaxed into the touches, heart slowing from its frenzied pace-

-until Lance blew a raspberry directly against his neck, loud and obnoxious.

Keith shot to sit up again, glaring down at Lance,  _ offended _ , this was a  _ tender moment  _ and this idiot - this idiot was laughing, eyes crinkling with the width of his smile even as he tried to grab Keith’s arms.

“Fuck you,” Keith said, pulling his arms out of Lance's grasp.

“Aw, baby,” He choked out between chuckles, “Don't be like that.”

“I don't like you anymore,” Keith said, just barely keeping his own grin contained as he made to slide off of the bed.

“No, come back,” Lance whined, grabbing at Keith’s shirt.

“No.”

“I won't do it again, I promise.”

“Still no.”

“Honey? Darling?” Keith wanted to laugh at the pet names, laugh at the way they made the blush spread across his face. Lance, noticing that Keith wasn't trying to escape anymore, continued with renewed purpose, “Sugar? Sweetheart! Muffin?”

That was the one that made Keith crack. 

“Muffin?” He asked amid chuckles, and Lance looked offended.

“What's wrong with muffins?” He said indignantly, “I love muffins.”

“So what, I'm supposed to call you guacamole now?” Keith teased, letting Lance finally drag him back down onto the bed. This time they lay on their sides, facing each other, and as their laughter faded away their lips met again in a series of soft, slow kisses. Keith sighed happily, but even though Lance’s arms were around him again something was...off. Lance was angling his body away from him, not pulling him in like before, even resisting a bit when Keith tried to do it himself. 

“What’s wrong?” Keith asked, pulling away to look Lance in the face, slightly worried at the sudden change.

“Wrong?” Lance asked, “Nothing’s wrong.”

“You’re like…” Keith frowned, “Not close.”

“Ah,” Lance’s tone was serious as he waved a hand in the space between their chests, explaining, “Leaving room for Jesus.”

Surprised laughter burst out of Keith’s mouth before he could contain it, full-chested laughter that shook him completely and wholly, and he buried his face into the mattress, trying to get it under control. Never,  _ never _ would he have expected to hear the words of his most religious of foster mother’s come out of Lance’s mouth. It was so surreal it was downright ludicrous, and he couldn’t control how the laughter burst out of him in response. Lance was absolutely  _ impossible _ .

Finally, finally, after what seemed like ages, Keith managed to rein in the laughter, his chest hurting because it had been so long since he’d laughed that hard. He looked back at Lance, wiping a stray tear that had escaped his eye away, only to find him staring right back, a fond and gentle grin on his face.

“What’re you looking at?” Keith asked, unable to meet Lance’s eyes and suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

“You’re… you’re beautiful, you know that,” Lance breathed, soft and low and Keith couldn’t help but to look at him then, his pulse picking up and his skin tingling at the tone. Then Lance reached out, brushing the hair back from Keith’s forehead and letting his fingers trail down behind his ear, across his jawline, thumb coming to stroke Keith’s cheek.

“Shut up,” Keith said softly, unable to look away, because he wouldn’t be able to handle it if Lance started talking crap like that, he could already feel his face heating in response.

“How about no,” Lance replied, the cheek coming through in his tone. Keith couldn’t respond, too caught up in the blue of his eyes, the lines of his cheekbones, the curve of his lips. He reached out himself, trailing fingers along Lance’s face, and Lance’s eyelids fluttered at his touch, a serene sort of  _ happy _ so very evident in his eyes, in his soft smile, in his  _ everything _ . And Keith knew it then, knew it deep inside, that he'd do anything to make Lance happy, to keep him happy in this soft and warm way as long as he could.

They kissed again, soft and slow, none of the fervor from before - just the warmth and the touch and the gentle sensations of their lips, their skin, their bodies touching. Keith smiled into the kiss, warm within the circle of Lance’s arms, and promised himself that he'd find a way.

  
.  
  


Keith had bloody hands again that night. He sat at the head of the bed, half-lounging, with Lance stretched out beside him, head snuggled up to his hip. The show had ended a bit ago but they were still there on the bed, basking in the afterglow. The cuts across Lance’s body glistened in the light where the blood hadn’t set yet, blood streaking his chest and stomach, bloody fingerprints dotting his arms and thighs. Some of them were Keith’s, and he couldn’t help it if he felt something like proud, something like sated, when he looked at them. He couldn’t help it if he felt so wonderfully warm and wanted when Lance looked up at him with that blissful smile on his face, humming to himself as Keith ran his fingers gently along his skin. There was no intensity that night, no desperation, just the slow and steady warmth of knowledge that they were okay, that  _ this _ was okay, that they were  _ together _ .

“We need to get you patched up,” Keith said softly, and Lance sighed against his leg, reaching over to loop an arm around Keith's thigh.

“Just a little longer,” He protested, those blue eyes catching Keith's and speaking  _ volumes _ without words.

“Come on,” Keith said softly, just as reluctant to leave the warmth of that moment,  “Let's get cleaned up, and then we can come back and count the stars together.”

And Lance looked like he was going to cry, his eyes suddenly glistening wet and so, so bright. He took hold of Keith’s hand, pulled it up so he could kiss the back of it, lips soft and warm against Keith’s skin; he kissed his wrist, his fingers, his arm, slowly like he was committing every touch to memory, and whispered back a breathless, “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you leave a review I will love you forever. No joke. 
> 
> And thank you for reading, I always, always appreciate it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is too long but hey, it's here. I think it's good.  
> I hope you all enjoy! There's still an 'epilogue' to follow because I want to end with some fun times (and by fun times i mean bloody times, so be forewarned. Lots of bloodplay in ch 12)
> 
> And listen - thank you. Thank you, every single one of you that has stopped by to read the fic, that has come back, that has left kudos or comments, thank you to everyone who's drawn fanart of this fic and who's contacted me on tumblr and twitter. Thank you to all of you that have shared this fic with your friends, or on your tumblrs or wherever. THANK YOU  
> The only reason this fic exists and has gotten this far is because OF YOU. So thank you. (thank you)
> 
> Remember, if you'd like you can find me on tumblr and twitter! On tumblr you can send anon asks, as anon is on  
> Tumblr: [JustBloodCamThings on Tumblr](http://justbloodcamthings.tumblr.com)  
> Twitter: [itsdetachable on Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/itsdetachable)

There was a sound, humming maybe, maybe a voice singing something soft and low. Shapes and colors were before him, but undefined and blurry - deep blue and stark white above and below him. The humming, the song, was cheerful, filled his chest with a resonating warmth that he felt from his head to his feet. His heart was pounding, though he didn't know from what, and his senses were switching between the scent of coconut and pineapple and something thicker and metallic, between the sight of deep blue and white and warm tan and his own pale arms,  his entire body shuddering while the colors before him bled crimson red…

Keith woke with a start, heart pounding fast and hard in his chest, feeling at once out of place. His mind reeled a moment before his eyes found the glow of the television set before him. He could feel the soft rise and fall of a chest below his cheek, a warm arm thrown across his back, and in a flash remembered - he was at Lance’s place. They'd been watching a movie in the living room and he must've fallen asleep. 

The dream - the dream was still with him, not in any concrete detail but in feeling, in the faint echo of the humming in his ears and the spread of warmth across his palms, and though he tried to relax he thought it might've been easier if he didn't remember the weight of a knife in his hand.

Then Lance sighed, his arm curling tighter around Keith as he nuzzled his head sleepily into Keith’s hair. Breathing deeply, Keith told himself to calm down, forced himself to close his eyes again and calm down. With Lance’s heartbeat in his ears chasing the last remaining wisps of the dream away, he let himself drift off again.

 

-

 

Keith found himself getting...well, better, in a way. His mind felt less fuzzy as days passed, less distant and detached. Maybe it helped, that though fall came steadily on with chilly rains and blustery nights, many days were sunny and cloudless. Maybe it helped, that this fall he had Lance there to pull him out on days he’d otherwise vegetate in his room, to give him something to look forward to instead of falling into the same old rut of work-home-home-work as always. He felt motivated to fight against the weight of detachment that threatened to crash into him, against the fuzz in his head that clouded his thoughts like cotton. And the more he fought against it, even if there were times where he just wanted to lay in bed for longer than any normal person should, the easier it became to put that  _ fight _ into his routine, to make  _ pushing back against the fuzz and irritability  _ part of his daily life. And it wasn’t easy - but every time Pidge gave him a surprised look when he dragged himself out of his bedroom to make dinner - a look that would be followed by a warm smile and a friendly punch on the arm - every time he made it out to meet up with Lance and got goaded into laughter or hugged so tight and kissed so hard he melted - it was worth it.

 

-

 

Working on a Saturday was one of the least enjoyable things Keith could do, probably. While the workload was technically lighter, there was a list of hundreds of critical loads that needed to be called on and tracked throughout the day, and thanks to his usual speedy handling of matters, he was  _ always _ assigned the largest part of that list. He rarely worked Saturdays because of that, only coming in when it was crucial, or when a coworker needed a day off. That day, unfortunately, was one of those days, but as reluctant as he had been to take it he forced himself to agree. It would count as overtime, after all, and while he could think of better ways to spend his Saturday morning, he wouldn't mind earning a little extra money.

 

In the end the day passed relatively quickly, though he found little time to even break for food due to his workload. It was odd, however, that through his entire shift he hadn't received one text from Lance. He had told him he was going into work, but that had never stopped Lance from texting before. Maybe Lance had been worn out after the previous night's show, and spent the morning sleeping in? Keith wouldn't mind if he did - Lance occasionally liked to act like he had superhuman abilities and, if not monitored, would try to do something stupid like moving furniture so it would “fit the space better, Keith” or going shopping for heavy groceries on Saturday mornings. Keith wondered often if Lance’s insistence to keep moving, keep  _ doing _ despite his body obviously being worn out, was an extension of his “I’m fine” mantra. 

(On a side note, Keith was really starting to hate that word.)  

The second the clock hit two, Keith was clocking out and logging off, eager to get out. Heading outside, he winced slightly in the sudden, sharp glare of the sun. When he had come to work the sky had been a deep shade of off-black and the only light came from the streetlamps ringing the parking lot. Blinking his vision back to normal, Keith headed out onto the tarmac towards his car. He wondered if he should stop by Lance’s apartment on the way back home. It couldn't hurt to check in, he decided as he headed to his car, and to be honest he was a little nervous about the lack of contact from Lance. He didn’t want to be  _ that guy _ that constantly monitored his boyfriend’s every move, but he thought he could be allowed the slight worry considering what Lance had been up to the night before. Pulling out his phone, he decided to send Lance a text to let him know he was headed over, though he doubted that Lance would’ve minded if he showed up unannounced. (Lance gave him a copy of his apartment key for that reason, Keith assumed - had given it to him feigning casual nonchalance despite the fact that he’d made the trip  _ specially _ to give it to him, despite the fact that he’d put it in a cute little red gift box with a little white ribbon tied around it. Keith felt a little cheated that Lance already had his key, like he was missing a part of the whole...bonding process.)

The phone buzzed in his hand before he could even swipe it on, and Keith was surprised to see that it was Lance. He was more surprised to see the contact photo that popped up. At some point in time Lance must’ve managed to take a selfie with Keith's phone - when, Keith had no clue- and the picture was a ridiculous shot of him in blue shutter shades with a large cat in his arms, Lance making a fish face while the cat had its mouth open wide. 

Keith almost missed answering the call because he was snorting too hard at the picture, but he managed to tap the talk button before it went to voicemail.

"Hello?” He choked out between chuckles, leaning against his car as he waited for Lance to respond.

“Hey, Keith, babe, how’s it going?” Lance burst out, sounding cheerful. Too cheerful, actually. Keith’s chuckles subsided as he noted that, a slight frown coming to his face.

“Good.” Keith answered carefully.

“Good, that’s good,” Lance repeated back, still with that overly cheerful edge to his voice. “You're good, I'm good…That’s pretty great.”

“I was just going to call you,” Keith said, suspicion brewing. Lance was babbling aimlessly, a marked difference from his usual enthusiastic but grounded rambling, and the last time he’d done it was when he’d accidentally microwaved something with foil on it and had called to ask (read: beg) Keith to help him clean up the resulting charred mess before his neighbor’s complained of the smell. “I wanted to see if you'd mind if I came over.”

“Ha, that's funny! I was gonna ask you...well, something similar.” Lance paused, and Keith could just make out the sound of...barking? Barking, in the background. Lance cleared his throat, and continued in a lower, hurried voice. “Do you think you can pick me up some gauze..and tape? Maybe a couple of those big bandages? You know, those square ones?”

“From the store?” Keith asked, although he was getting the distinct impression that that wasn't what Lance meant. 

“From my apartment?” Lance said, a hopeful lilt at the end of his sentence. Keith breathed deep, let it out slow and controlled because he could already feel his pulse picking up.

“Where are you?” He asked, putting his keys into the door lock and twisting them harshly. More barking on the other end of the line, still distant but distinct, and Lance sighed before he responded.

“I'm at work, okay?” He grumbled, as if he was already anticipating Keith's response.

“Why-” Keith bit back the rest of the sentence that threatened to burst out of his mouth at volumes far above acceptable in public settings, and yanked the car door open instead. Seating himself, he pulled the door closed with more force than necessary. “Why are you at work? It's Saturday.”

“Yeah I know what day it is,” Lance continued to grumble. “Can you get me the stuff?”

“Yes, you idiot,” Keith said, starting the car, “Why are you at work?”

“Kelsey called in sick and they didn't have anyone else to come in-”

“You shouldn't be working, there's a reason you told them you wouldn't work Saturdays,” Keith continued talking right over him, unable to keep the bite out of his tone. He couldn't believe that Lance had actually gone in to work, the day after a show. How the hell had he been planning to make it through the day? Keith had been around him the past few Saturdays and he was out for the count more often than not - and when he  _ did _ force himself into moving around to do stupid shit, he’d end up bleeding  _ again _ and needing to reset his bandages several times throughout the day.

“Oh my fucking god Keith I’m _ fine _ ,” Lance groaned, and his voice dropped into a harsh whisper. “This isn’t the first time I’ve worked after a show, all right?”

That fact didn’t exactly make Keith feel any better. He gritted his teeth and put his phone on speaker, taking the few seconds to place it in the cupholder so he could still hear Lance instead of tossing it onto the passenger’s side seat like he felt like doing. He pulled out onto the street, driving possibly a little faster than he might normally have.

“Do you need anything else?” He asked in what might have been a resigned but still ticked off growl.

“Don’t be  _ mad _ .” Lance sighed audibly.

“I’m not mad.” Keith responded through gritted teeth. He wasn’t mad, he told himself, he was just  _ worried _ and if that just meant he sounded like he was mad…

“I can tell when you’re mad,” Lance said, sounding frustrated, “You think I can’t tell when you’re mad?”

“Just tell me if you need anything else.” Keith replied, not mad. At all.

“Just get me the gauze pads and shit, okay,” Lance grumbled. He sounded tired, and Keith felt a little bad for snapping like he had because he realized that yeah, Lance did go to work but he was probably still worn out and feeling like shit. Maybe he should cut him some slack.

“When did your shift start?” He asked, trying his best to sound less gruff.

“Eleven.”

“Do you want me to grab you any food while I’m at it?” It was only two but Keith figured he should offer, if only to show Lance he wasn’t actually mad at him.

“That…” Lance sighed, “That sounds great, actually.”

“I’ll swing by Jaimito’s after I pick up the stuff from your place,” Keith said.

“Dude, that’s so out of the way,” Lance replied, “Just go to Subway or some-”

“I’m going to Jaimito’s,” Keith said firmly. “And when I bring it to you I’m going to make you go on break and I’m going to sit there and make sure you eat it.”

For a moment there was silence on the other end, and then Lance spoke in a quiet voice, “...okay, but that’s kind of creepy. You just going to stare at me?”

“In silence.”

“...really creepy…” 

“I’ll see you in a bit, Lance.” Keith said with a grin tugging at his lips, and Lance chuckled.

“All right, I’ll see you, and Keith… thanks.”

“Any time.” Keith said fondly, rolling his eyes. “Now get back to work before your manager gets pissed you’re on your phone.”

Lance signed off sounding much cheerier than a few moments before, and Keith took a deep breath to settle the nerves he still felt stinging at the thought of Lance, working, the day after a show. It still rubbed him so  _ wrong _ , it felt like he was doing something wrong, letting Lance work in that state. And that,  _ that _ felt wrong - because fuck, Lance was his own person and Keith didn’t have the right to decide what he did or didn’t do. 

Still, for some reason, Keith couldn’t shake the feeling that he was letting Lance down, somehow. He chewed on that thought as he headed to Lance’s apartment, then on to Jaimito’s where he got the burrito special (with rice and beans, no sour cream, extra  _ pico _ ) before heading on to Pets Plus.

Pets Plus was one of those pet stores that had once been a tiny nook pet supply store, tucked into the corner of a strip mall, and had slowly grown until it stretched and absorbed other storefronts. It hadn’t quite reached the size of the chain pet stores, but it was big enough that Keith couldn’t see the back end of it when he walked inside. There were several customers wandering around from what he could see, and for a moment he stood there, bags in hands, slightly lost and slowly becoming confused because there was music playing from the speakers and there were birds squawking somewhere to his right and… and apparently his nerves were more affected than he’d thought, or maybe his head was just overworked from all the tracking that morning. 

Shaking his head to try and clear it, he glanced around himself with renewed purpose. He should probably text Lance, or find another sales associate. One of those things would probably help.

“Hello sir, can I help you?” 

Or maybe a sales associate would find him, that would work as well. Keith turned towards the voice to find a girl walking in his direction, smile bright against her dark skin, her curly hair pulled back into a high ponytail. She looked younger than him, and was shorter as well.

“Uh, yeah, I was looking for Lance?” Keith said, shifting the bags in his hands uneasily. Her expression brightened, her smile growing wider.

“Oh!  _ You’re _ Keith!” She said cheerfully, and Keith was a little taken aback by that - what did she mean,  _ he _ was Keith? “You can head back to the break room, it’s in the back right of the store, you can’t miss it it’s got a big “Employees Only” sign on it. I’ll let Lance know you’re here.”

“Uh...are you sure I should go back there?” Keith asked, relatively certain he wasn’t allowed in employee only places. 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” The girl said, waving him on as she headed off into the store. Keith still wasn’t quite sure about it, but he wasn’t about to stand there like an idiot waiting for Lance to show up. And if she was going to tell Lance to meet him in the break room, then that’s where he should be - so he headed back there, walking down the aisles. He was only slightly set off course when he noticed the ferrets wrestling in their plexiglass display. It wasn’t his fault that they tugged on his heart strings in exactly the sort of way that required him to walk over and see if there was any way he could stick his hands into the display. He was slightly disheartened to find that there wasn’t, and instead had to make do with running his hand along the outside of their display and grinning while they raced and tumbled over each other as they tried to catch his fingers. There were two sable ones but there was also a cinnamon colored ferret that he was absolutely ready to tuck into his jacket and steal away.

“One day,” He whispered to the furry slinkies, giving the plexiglass one last pat before moving away. Ferrets got along with cats, he reasoned as he headed on towards the break room, so it wouldn’t be a problem…

“Keith!” Lance’s voice reached him as he stepped up to the door, and then Lance was  _ there _ , arms around his shoulders and body warm against his back. “You’re here! Come on, let’s get off the floor.”

Lance gave him a quick peck on the cheek before grabbing his arm and pulling him into the break room, closing the door behind him. There was a counter on one side, with a sink and cabinets, and a fridge in the corner. A table and several chairs were arranged at the center, and an “Employee’s Rights” poster hung on one wall under an old and weathered clock. 

“Here’s the stuff,” Keith said, placing the bag from Jaimito’s on the table and holding the other out to Lance.

“Thank you thank you thank you,” Lance grabbed the bag like it was his lifeline, digging into it with a relieved look. “And you brought extra too?”

“I figured I might as well, since you’re probably working a full shift, right?” Keith said, eyeing Lance critically. He didn’t look horrible; well, he wasn’t pale, and he wasn’t shaking, which was an improvement on the previous weekend. The show the night before wasn’t quite as intense as last week’s, however - Lance had pulled out the  _ fugu hiki _ knife out that week, and got a little  _ too _ excited about using it again. “The girl out front was really nice.”

“Mia is great,” Lance said, placing the bag on the table so he could sort through the bandages and pads inside of it. 

“She knew who I was too,” Keith said, scratching at an itch at the back of his neck as he ventured hesitantly, “Do you talk about me?”

The thought was a bit unnerving, but not… not in a bad way. He wasn’t quite sure how to describe it, but it was a pleasant flicker across his mind and in his chest.

“Yeah I talk about you, I complain about you being a jerk all the time,” Lance said as the door to the break room opened, sticking his tongue out at Keith.

“That’s a lie,” The guy who walked into the room said with a cheeky grin, adding, as Lance shot him an indignant look, “It’s  _ never _ complaining.”

“Shut up Brandon,” Lance snapped back, eyes narrowing. “No one asked you.”

Brandon rolled his eyes and grabbed a water bottle that stood on the counter. Keith couldn’t help but chuckle at Lance’s offended look, couldn’t help but feel a bit happier knowing that Lance actually talked about him, and not in a bad way, with his coworkers. It kind of… made it all feel more real, if possible. Like they were actually  _ something _ . Which was a stupid thought, because they were already  _ something _ , but…

“Hey, did you see the poster we just put up in front?” Brandon asked amiably, obviously not affected by Lance’s dirty look.

“Which one?”

“The Zombie Splat? The paintball thing on Halloween?” Brandon asked, and Keith could see the interest in Lance’s eyes, a spark lighting up. For a moment it looked like he was going to respond with enthusiasm - but then his grin twitched, and that spark fizzled out.

“Yeah, looks cool,” He said, and Keith couldn’t understand the nonchalance in his tone when it was obvious he was interested.

“I wanna go so bad,” Brandon said as he headed back out the door, “But the tickets, man…”

“Those kinds of events are always pricey,” Lance said with a chuckle, and Brandon grumbled something under his breath as he pulled the door closed behind him. Lance turned back to the bag, pulling things out, but Keith’s mind was still focused on what Brandon had talked about. A  paintball thing? Keith had never played paintball, but he knew it involved guns and teams and competition and that… that sounded right up Lance’s alley. A thought began brewing in his brain, and though he wanted to ask Lance about it something made him hold back. No, he’d check the poster out when he left and… and yeah, an idea was forming in his head, one that brought a small, secretive grin to his face. 

“What?” Lance asked, a curious grin on his face as he looked over at Keith.

“Nothing, just thinking…” Keith said, “Do you need any help?”

“I’m good with this,” Lance replied, grinning as he held up the gauze pads and tape he’d pulled from the bag. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom to get fixed up but…” and his grin turned cheeky, eyebrow raising, “If you want to stick around and watch me eat, feel free.”

Keith did, though not in silence. Between Lance’s retellings of the various customers he’d already had to deal with that day, and Keith’s dry-humour comments, Lance’s half-hour lunch sped by far too quickly, and before he knew it Keith was heading out the door again while Lance rushed to help man the registers. Watching to make sure Lance was out of view, Keith paused outside the door to read over the poster taped up next to the Charity Pet Gala announcement. ZOMBIE SPLAT, it proclaimed in loud, red writing, figures dressed in paintball gear and splattered in red paint stalking through a forest scene below the words, paintball guns in hand. Grinning to himself, Keith snapped a picture, and heading for his car opened a text thread to Hunk.

 

Keefer (3.38pm): (image sent)

Keefer (3.38pm): you in?

Hunk (3.39pm): yes hunk is in

Hunk (3.39pm): this is shay I am also in

Hunk (3.40pm): we will both be in

Keefer (3.41pm): perfect

Hunk (3.44pm): this is hunk what exactly are we in on??

Hunk (3.44pm): wiat paintball why are we in on paintball

Hunk (3.48pm): okay apparently we are VERY IN on paintball

Hunk (3.48pm): shay is saying something about lance and payback

Hunk (3.49pm): not exactly sure what is going on

Hunk (3.49pm): wait now I remember

Hunk (3.50pm): Oh boy okay

Keefer (3.51pm): as long as you guys are in we’re good

Hunk (3.52pm): question does lance know

Keefer (3.52pm): he knows of it

Keefer (3.53pm): he doesn’t know we’re going yet

Keefer (3.453pm): I wanna surprise him

Hunk (3.55pm): that...is adorable

Hunk (3.55pm): ;__; that’s so sweet man

Keefer (3.57pm): i just thought he’d like it

Hunk (3.58pm): he’s going to love it he hasn’t played paintball in like

Hunk (3.58pm): YEARS 

Keefer (4.00pm): well as long as he likes it it’ll be worth it

 

Grinning to himself, Keith turned his attention back to the road. Halloween was a short couple weeks away, and he had preparations to make.

 

-

  
  


So maybe Keith had been mentally preparing for Matt’s arrival, and maybe he’d gotten to the point where it no longer sent a wave of uneasy anticipation crawling across his shoulders, and maybe he thought he’d be  _ okay _ , but the moment the door opened and Pidge and Matt’s voices reached him, his shoulders tensed and his hackles rose.

Vaguely, he thought that he might not have had such a strong reaction a few months earlier, before the white noise invaded his head. But right then his mind could only pull up the fight from the last time Matt had been there, the argument that went too far too fast and ended with both of them saying things they probably would never had said otherwise.

Technically, Keith had called Matt a few weeks later, tired of ignoring Pidge’s pointed looks and becoming wary of the way she kept following him around the apartment like a small, silently pissed-off shadow. They’d apologized to each other, and were supposed to be on good terms now, but…

“Hey Keith,” Matt said as he stepped into the living room, and Keith fought back the twitch in his shoulders and rose from the couch to greet him. Matt hadn’t changed much in the past two years since Keith had seen him last - still skinny, still wearing the familiar horn-rimmed glasses and a witty programming t-shirt (Keith assumed it was witty; he didn’t know any programming languages but Pidge got a kick out of the shirts every time she saw them). He was tanned this year, however, and that fact tickled Keith’s brain.  _ That _ he hadn’t expected, and he could only wonder what that meant. He wasn’t quite sure if he was ready to  _ ask _ .

“Hey Matt,” Keith greeted, meeting the other man’s brown eyes evenly. Pidge was a small presence in the room on the edges of his attention, though her gaze burned. For a moment longer she hovered near them before quietly slipping away to the kitchen.

“Look, I know last time wasn’t that...good,” Matt said hesitantly, a slightly wary look on his face. Keith realized he probably looked as tense as he felt, and he tried to force himself to relax, to at least get the glower (he admitted it, he  _ glowered _ ) off his face.

“I shouldn’t...I shouldn’t have acted the way I did.” Keith said, wanting to get past it all, past the negative feelings and past that wary look on Matt’s face and past the memory. “You just wanted to help.”

“I still do.” Matt said, firmly if a bit quietly, like he was trying to gauge Keith’s reaction. Keith might’ve reacted harshly once before, and he felt that twinge to bite back tickling at the back of his neck and the tips of his fingers, but he could fight it back much easier this time, somehow. 

“I’ll let you know when I’ll need it, then,” Keith said, breathing out the tension and trying to grin. He wasn’t mad at Matt, and he wasn’t even mad that he wanted to help.

“Fair enough.” Matt replied, and Keith could see his shoulders relax, the smile coming easier to his face. “So, what have you been up to lately?”

“The usual,” Keith said, but as Matt’s grin turned a little smirk-like, he had to wonder what Pidge had told him on the drive over. “Hey, did you make any plans for Halloween?”

“Not yet, I don’t think,” Matt said with a questioning look, “Why?”

“What do you think about paintball?”

 

-

 

Six pm on October 30th found Keith standing outside Lance’s door waiting for Lance to open it, two duffel bags full of supplies and gear in his hands. There were orange lights blinking around the window frames out front and large lit up skeletons hanging in them. Four jack-o-lanterns were set at the top of the stairs leading down to the apartment (Keith had helped carve a couple of those a couple of nights before) and the door itself was covered with one of those full-door wraps featuring a witch stirring her cauldron.

Keith eyed the decorations with a grin; Lance loved Halloween, he’d discovered. He scoured thrift stores and dollar stores for decorations, and the inside of the apartment was decorated with wicker ghosts and black cat candles and Halloween fairy lights strung up on the living room ceiling, halloween themed streamers hanging in the hallway leading back to the kitchen. Keith hoped Lance enjoyed his Halloween surprise just as much as he loved the holiday.To be honest, Keith had wanted to hold off telling him as long as possible, until the last minute if he could, but after discussing it with Hunk they decided that springing it on Lance the morning of would probably not be the best idea. Besides, Pidge and Matt had brought up the idea of dressing up their outfits for Halloween, and Keith figured Lance wouldn’t want to pass that chance up. So there he was, having planned a movie night with Lance for the sole purpose of revealing the surprise to him instead.

“You’re early!” Lance greeted him as he opened the door, a dish towel in one hand and a tantalizing scent wafting out from out the apartment.

“I was ready earlier so I thought I’d come over now,” Keith explained, heading into the apartment as Lance stepped back to give him room, maneuvering the duffel bags awkwardly. 

“What’s with the bags, babe? You moving in?” Lance asked with a laugh, following Keith inside with a puzzled grin on his face. Keith found himself grinning as well, though he tried to tone it down to keep from giving anything away. He was getting excited though, a giddy rush in his veins as he set the bags down on the living room table. Lance stepped up next to him, shoulders bumping as he crowded in curiously. The orange and purple fairy lights on the ceiling twinkled above them, casting an oddly warm glow over everything, and the scent of  _ something _ delicious roasting wafted in from the kitchen.

“Do you have to go keep an eye on anything in the kitchen?” Keith asked, but Lance shook his head, still eyeing the duffle bags.

“I was just cleaning up - what  _ is _ this?” Lance tossed the dish towel over his shoulder and pulled one of the bags closer to himself. 

“Open it,” Keith said, bumping his shoulder into Lance’s. 

“What, is it a surprise?” Lance asked, blue eyes sparkling. Keith nodded, and Lance tugged excitedly at a zipper to open the first bag. He reached in and dug around, his puzzled expression only growing when he pulled out a pack of Halloween makeup. A camo jacket followed, and then a paintbrush.

“What...what is this? What’s this for?” Lance held up the camo jacket, and Keith took the chance to pull it from his hands and hold it up to his shoulders. “Keith, what’re you doing?”

“It should fit, good,” Keith said as he put the jacket on the table, then nodded at the bag. “Keep going.”

“What else is in here?” Lance muttered, digging into the bag again, “Keith, what is this all for? Is it for Halloween? What kind of Halloween stuff is this-”

That was the moment when Lance pulled out a paintball helmet. For a long, long moment he stared at it, dumb shock on his face, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at. His eyes lifted from the mask to meet Keith’s, then back down to look at the camo jacket, then back at Keith.

“What is this?”

That seemed to be the question of the moment, and Keith decided that maybe he should  _ finally _ answer considering it looked like Lance had short circuited somewhere in the past few seconds.

“That’s a paintball helmet.” Keith said, and when Lance only continued staring at him, added, “You’re going to need it tomorrow.”

“Why-what’s tomorrow?” Lance asked quietly.

“The Zombie Splat,” Keith said simply. Lance’s eyes widened slightly, his hands tightening just a little around the helmet in his hands.

“What?” He squeaked, “K-Keith, the  _ tickets _ -”

“Don’t worry about the tickets,” Keith said, stepping closer and putting his hands on Lance’s shoulders. He knew what Lance was worried about - the tickets cost...well, a lot more than tickets had a right to cost, honestly, and Keith knew Lance wasn’t back in the green enough to justify it. But Keith was, and knowing that Lance would enjoy it was justification enough.

“But-”

“No, this is your Halloween present,” Keith said firmly, giving Lance’s shoulders a little shake to emphasize it. “Happy Halloween.”

“You don’t give people Halloween presents Keith who gives anyone a Halloween present?” Lance sputtered out, but he was clinging to that paintball helmet like it was a lifeline, and he was grinning, finally, a real and honest grin.

“Yeah well, maybe I do,” Keith said, and Lance laughed, eyes shining. He placed the helmet back on the table.

“What’s the makeup and paintbrush for?”

“Pidge and Matt thought we should dress up the gear, for Halloween,” Keith said, “So I brought some stuff… I mean, I don’t have any ideas but I figured you would-”

“HALLOWEEN COSTUME PAINTBALL OF FUCKING COURSE!” Lance exclaimed suddenly, ecstatic revelation painted across his face in the gleam of his eyes and the beam of his smile. He practically  _ leapt _ onto Keith hugging him tightly and laughing wildly. “Keith  _ Keith _ we can be vampires! We can be zombies! WE CAN BE VAMPIRE ZOMBIES!”

“I brought a couple werewolf mask too, just in case,” Keith choked out from within the crushing hug.

“ _ VAMPIRE ZOMBIE WEREWOLVES!” _

-

The next morning was ordered chaos. Lance had kept true to his plan, and kept Keith up until one in the morning to create some sort of...Halloween monster mash up outfits out of the camo gear and supplies Keith had brought. Lance had even gone so far as to carefully cut the face out of the werewolf masks and glue the ears and fur down over their helmets with only the faceplate visible from the front. After all of that, he'd dragged Keith out of bed at four thirty in the morning to do their makeup. Keith tried to protest, they'd be wearing helmets all day, practically no one would see it - but then Lance pulled out the  _ pout _ , all wobbly lips and puppy dog eyes, and Keith couldn't say no. Lance dutifully painted Keith’s face in corpse paint, splattering red around his lips and dotted across his cheeks. Then he painted his own face, greenish tinted like rancid flesh with long red gashes across one cheek and bloody streaks dripping from the corner of his mouth. Keith had to admit, they looked pretty fucking amazing.  

They finally got on the road at six in the morning, the group of them taking two cars since they all wouldn’t fit in one. Hunk and Shay drove by themselves, while Pidge, Matt, Keith and Lance took Keith’s car. The trip was just under two hours, and the whole way Keith was reconsidering his decision to go to Zombie Splat, his decision to invite everyone, and most of all his decision to allow Lance control over the radio. Not that the songs were bad - there was little music that Keith actually hated listening to, and Lance happened to not be a fan of country music either - it was just that Lance and Pidge got into a contest to see who could belt out the lyrics loudest twenty minutes into the drive.

At least Keith wasn’t suffering alone. Matt had curled up behind the driver’s seat, his jacket wrapped around his head in an attempt to hold off the increasing volume of Lance’s and Pidge’s singing contest.

“I’m good. I’m so good. Very good.” He replied when Keith shot him a questioning look at a red light, shooting him a thumbs up. His eyes spoke a different story, and Keith wondered how long it would take before one of the singers (Pidge probably, since she was in the backseat with Matt) would get shanked.

Thankfully, they all arrived at the paintball fields with little injury. The paintball fields were located far outside the city, on a plot of land that had a decently sized wooded area along one side. According to their website, they had no less than four woodsball runs set up (one that could handle up to 100 players at one time) as well as two demolished city scenes (complete with rusted cars and broken buildings), and several speedball courts. The Zombie Splat was an all inclusive event, with rented guns, unlimited paintballs, a barbecue lunch and complimentary beverages all day long. The event coordinators were allowing those who came in the morning to go through the runs in smaller groups, planning for the main event in the afternoon.

“This is so awesome,” Pidge said as she looked over her sleek paintball gun. She was perched on the picnic table they’d claimed for their own on one side of the entry courtyard, running her hand over the smooth black metal. “It’s been such a long time since I’d played paintball…”

“You played paintball?” Matt asked, “When?”

“I don’t know - that’s how I know it must’ve been a long time ago!” Pidge said, and Matt give her an unconvinced look. 

“Well, I for one am looking forward to settling some scores today,” Shay said cheerfully, shooting a pointed look in Lance’s direction.

“We’ll see about that,” Lance replied, looking up from filling the paintball hopper on his gun. “You’ll have to remember to look where you’re running, it’d be a shame if you lost a game because you tripped over a branch,  _ again _ .”

“And  _ you’ll _ have to remember not to celebrate before the game is over,” Shay shot back, grin still in place. 

“Oh, it’s starting,” Hunk said with a sigh.

“Is Shay competitive?” Keith asked, a little bemused by the interaction between Shay and Lance. It was friendly, but there was an undercurrent of unresolved competitiveness there.

“Not really,” Hunk said with a shrug, “But last time we all played paintball - and it was  _ ages  _ ago like when Shay and me first started dating - there was this incident in the woods section during one of the games...well, they had a count going, right? Who shot who how many times, and then we’re in the last game, and we’re in the woods and Shay is running from Lance, right, and just as he shoots she trips over a branch and falls to the ground. Now according to Lance -”

“I was right!”

“According to Lance,” Hunk shot Lance a dirty look for interrupting, “He shot Shay, and so he thought he was the last man standing. According to the ref, the game was still in play, so while  _ he  _ was striking a victory pose she shot him in the stomach.”

“With no warning,” Lance said, eyes narrowing at Shay.

“There is no warning in war,” Shay said with a peaceful smile on her face. “There is only survival.”

“And survival requires properly functioning guns,” Lance said, propping his own up on his shoulder. “I’m going to hit the target range, who’s with me?”

Pidge hopped off the table, and Keith hoisted his own gun as well. The three of them headed down to a cordoned off area. A covered area was set up for the players to stand in, and a target area was spread out before it with various targets set up - logs and wood planks and metal bells hanging off of tree limbs. A sign outside warned them to put their helmets on, and a worker at the entrance dutifully made sure that they had the helmets secured properly before letting them in. 

Keith was pumped, to be honest. He hadn’t really fired a gun since his days in training at the Garrison, and that was so long ago he almost couldn’t remember it. He didn’t know if firing a paintball gun was anything like firing a real gun, but he was eager to find out. Lance had given him a run down the night before - about keeping the safety plugs in the guns at all times outside of game locations, about making sure his helmet fit right, even down to the details of how to communicate in the woods parts and how to stay safe in the speedball runs. Lance apparently knew  _ a lot _ about paintball - and Keith was nowhere near capable of remembering most of what he’d been told. 

Shooting the gun, however, was something he could do, and when Lance motioned for him to step up to the line he did it eagerly, pulling the rubber plug from the muzzle and looking out at the targets.

“You want to sight down the line of the gun,” Lance said from just behind him as Keith raised the gun. “Some of these rentals have fiddly hardware, like the muzzle won’t be quite straight or whatever, so you can expect some spin on the ball. It’ll affect its direction a bit.”

Keith nodded, focus completely on aiming the gun, and pulled the trigger. There was little kick back, but he probably shouldn’t have been expecting much, considering the guns ran on CO2 canisters.

“Where’d the ball go?” He found himself asking, however, realizing that in his focus to aim and fire he’d totally missed its trajectory. Pidge snorted and Lance let out a chuckle, and Keith half-turned to glare at them both. “Did it hit anything?”

“What were you aiming at?” Lance asked instead of answering, setting his gun down on a stool set at the back of the enclosure and stepping up closer to him. Keith could barely see his eyes through the helmet visor, it was tinted slightly, and for half a second the wires in his head got crossed and his mind went places it really shouldn’t have gone right then. He looked away, motioning vaguely with his gun towards the targets as he tried to ignore the rising heat in his cheeks.

“At the log.” 

“Here,” Lance said, and he moved Keith back into position, then wrapped his arms around him to help him hold the gun in a slightly different position. “Sight down the muzzle…”

“That’s what I’m doing,” Keith huffed, trying to ignore the way Lance was practically hugging him right then. Pidge’s gagging sounds were a bit more difficult to ignore, and he made a mental note to make sure he targeted her a few times that day.

“No, no, try it like this,” Lance tugged his arm and lowered the gun a bit, and Keith thought he could see it now - the way he held the gun now made it easier to see the target. 

“And now, shoot.”

Keith did, and this time a second after the report came the bright splatter of orange paint on the log before him. It wasn’t quite dead center, as he’d been aiming, but it was a hit. Keith felt a tiny glimmer of excitement, one that flared when Lance clapped his shoulder and exclaimed happily,

“See babe, you got it!”

Keith grinned widely as he turned to Lance, feeling so ridiculously over-proud over the fact that he shot one paintball and hit one target. But there was Lance, arms stretched over his head like this was the most exciting thing he’d ever seen while, and yes that was over the top but fuck Keith was okay with that. He adored that.

‘’Oh my god you two, tone it down for the rest of us,” Pidge groaned, shoving her way past both Lance and Keith and setting up a shot. “ _ Some _ of us actually want to play paintball today.”

She fired off a few shots in rapid succession - and if Matt had been surprised that Pidge had played paintball before, Keith no longer was. Most of her shots hit the targets, and several hit dead center - including one that rang a rusty iron bell.

“Come talk to me when you can do  _ that _ ,” She said with a haughty look at Keith, knocking into his shoulder as she stepped away from the shooting line. 

“You want to take a few more shots?” Lance asked Keith, but Keith shook his head.

“I want to see you shoot first,” He replied, moving back to give Lance space. Lance shrugged, then stepped up to the line and lined up a shot.

The first one hit the log Keith had been aiming it, a blossom of green paint next to his orange. The second and third did as well, and as Keith watched him he realized that Lance was getting a feel for the gun, minutely changing the position he held the gun in, the angle the muzzle was tilted at, before each shot. Several more times green splattered against the log, and then Lance nodded to himself, taking a moment to loosen up before lifting the gun back up again.

Another hit on the log, but this time it was dead center over the last one, and then - then the shots came rapid fire, Keith couldn’t count them all and he could barely keep up with the splatters of paint blossoming on every target in quick succession. Lance was firing a smooth shot almost every second, his body somehow ramrod straight yet fluid at the same time, moving only enough to line up the next shot between each pull of the trigger. The wooden planks trembled under the successive shots, the wooden hoops swung as three different shots hit each of the three different rings  _ separately and dead center _ .  _ As they swung _ . Keith didn’t know if he had the breath to echo Pidge’s quiet “shit’ but he certainly shared the awe, especially when Lance ran through the targets again, somehow  _ even quicker this time _ and somehow still almost dead center on each shot. He finished with a shot to the bell, the sudden hoarse ring shocking Keith back to his senses.

Slightly winded, though he hadn’t been doing  _ anything _ , Keith could only stare as Lance turned back around, casually plugging the gun muzzle up again.

“So, want another go?” Lance asked, motioning to the line.

Keith nodded wordlessly; he’d need about a hundred goes if he was going to get anywhere near  _ half _ as good as Lance was (maybe two hundred). 

 

He didn’t get two hundred, more like twenty or thirty before they were called out to get into teams. There were few groups there that early in the day, as the main event, really, was the massive games during the second half of the day, so the refs decided to let the friend groups stick together as well as they could. It turned out they were lucky - there were six of them, enough for two teams of three that the refs felt comfortable letting play in the smaller wooded area.

“We can rotate between the teams so we all have an equal chance to shoot each other,” Pidge said cheerfully.

“I like that idea,” Matt said with a grin, “Never gonna pass up a chance to injure my little sis.”

“Aww, you’re so sweet,” Pidge cooed, slapping Matt on the arm as they both laughed. 

“I see where she gets it now,” Hunk whispered to Keith as they watched, and Keith had to laugh. Hunk hadn’t seen  _ nothing _ yet.

“Keith!” Lance called out suddenly, running up with an excited grin on his face. “We’re on opposite teams first time around!”

“Great,” Keith managed to say before Lance grabbed him up into a hug.

“No hard feelings, babe, but I’m absolutely going to  _ wreck _ you,” Lance said, sounding far too happy at the prospect. Keith couldn’t help but feel a little shudder of nervousness as he patted Lance on the back awkwardly. He wasn’t sure he was looking forward to getting wrecked.

 

Thankfully, he wasn’t the only one. Lance absolutely  _ destroyed _ on the paintball field. The entire morning was a whirlwind of action, running, shooting and getting shot, but that one thing Keith could remember - Lance, ending most games as either the last man standing, or the one that knocked out the opposing team members the fastest. 

Not that he was absolutely immune to getting shot - Shay made good on her promise to get him back for the last time they’d played. In fact, she was the second sharpest shooter from their group, tagging almost everyone at least once. Not even Keith’s inhibitory recklessness could keep him from feeling a little bit anxious when the rotation put Lance and Shay on the same team together. And when Hunk joined the mix? It was barely a competition at that point, and while Pidge and Matt came up with some great plans (Pidge hiding up in trees during capture the flag, Matt and Keith making use of some natural ditches and bushes during last man standing runs, a series of whistles to communicate better through the brush), plans could only do so much in the face of the supernaturally accurate aim that both Lance and Shay boasted and the tenacious attacks Hunk would carry out while battering through the brush. For all that Hunk had seemed reluctant about playing, his demeanor completely changed on the field, and Keith found himself turning tail and running more than once when he saw Hunk barreling in his direction. 

There was just something  _ wrong  _ with them being so good at this.

Battered, bruised, and worn out more than he had been in what felt like  _ years _ , Keith wanted to do nothing so much during the lunch break after eating as nap in the shade somewhere. Instead, he walked over wearily to where Lance stood talking with Hunk and slung an arm around his shoulders, leaning into his familiar angles and breathing a heavy sigh.

“Having fun, hun?” Lance said, looking pleased with himself for the rhyme, and Keith rolled his eyes.

“No,” He responded, “We’re doing this again.”

“When, next week?” Lance asked with a grin.

“Every week until I kick your ass,” Keith shot back, and Lance laughed, pulling him closer with an arm around his waist.

“Oh baby, first you gotta get on my level, then we can talk about you kicking my ass,” Lance said in a sweet voice, nuzzling his face against Keith’s head.

“Stop,” Keith laughed, trying to push him away, “You’re going to get your makeup all over my hair.”

Lance pulled back, and sure enough the tip of his nose was smeared clean of make up. Keith frowned, reaching up with his hand to wipe some of the makeup from further up down to try and cover it up.

“Oh, wait, I was telling Hunk something,” Lance said suddenly, shooting a sheepish smile over at Hunk, who had sat down at their table in the meantime and was dutifully cleaning the muzzle of his gun with a plunger-like instrument.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hunk said with a grin at the both of them. Keith patted Lance’s shoulder and detached himself from his side, moving toward the table himself.

“What were you two talking about?” He asked, looking over at Hunk. Lance had followed him and sat down right next to him, casually reaching out to grab one of Keith’s hands in his own. He’d started doing that lately, ever since Keith had taken his hand in the coffee shop actually. Holding his hand, playing with his fingers, stuff like that. Keith found he didn’t really mind, and when he realized that Lance usually did it when he was really excited, or kind of nervous, or just needed a distraction or something to help focus on, he minded it even less. 

Right then, he figured it was  _ excitement _ , because both Lance and Hunk launched into an enthusiastic description of one of their paintball games from years back - Keith could barely keep up with them as they spoke over and around each other, adding things the other forgot or insisting they got some detail wrong. He stopped trying to follow along a few short seconds in, and watched Lance instead. He was so animated when he talked, especially when it was about something he enjoyed, and Keith liked watching him. He was relatively certain that he started enjoying things - like,  _ things _ , just everyday ordinary  _ things _ \- 70% more since they got together only because he got to see how excited and energetic and enthusiastic Lance got about  _ things _ and some of that backwashed onto him as well.

That day, Keith noticed something else as well. Oh, Lance was as talkative as ever, as cocky and self-sure and slightly dramatic as he ever was (he really hadn’t needed to throw himself theatrically over a fallen log with a drawn out death wail when Pidge shot him halfway through their fourth game), but there was something...different about him that day. He was calmer, for one, more focused for two, and there was a distinct lack of tension in his shoulders that Keith noticed with something of a slight surprise. He’d thought he’d seen Lance relaxed, but at that moment he realized that he probably hadn’t, not on a regular day and not outside of when Lance was sleepy or cuddled up with him or in a boneless afterglow after a show. No, there was a set to his shoulders that Keith hadn’t seen before, a glint in his eyes and a sureness to his step that day that Keith had definitely not noted before. When he’d been teaching Keith to shoot earlier, there had been a certainty in his voice, and when he’d given the rest of them tips between games, shown Matt how to angle his gun better or offered Pidge some tricks for using her size to her advantage on the field, it was with the poise of someone who knew exactly what they were talking about. 

Confidence, Keith realized. This was Lance  _ confident _ , confident in his knowledge and his skill and confident that he could pass along some of that knowledge to the rest of them. Real confidence, not the bravado he put on sometimes, not the half-assed confident he talked himself into.

Confidence, Keith decided, looked good on him.

  
  


The set up after lunch was vastly different – several more groups of people had arrived throughout lunch until the center courtyard was filled with players milling about. Many of them were dressed up for the event, with wings or tails or other additions decorating their outfits. One group had “Happy Halloween” painted in orange across the top of their visors and Halloween stickers stuck on the backs of their helmets, while another had painted vivid neon orange, green and purple stripes all over their outfits.. There was even a themed group dressed in blood spattered bridal gowns and tuxes.

As one o’clock crept closer, a voice over the loudspeaker called for them to face the front of the courtyard, where a large projection screen was set up on a low-raised wooden stage. Several of the game refs were lined up on it, and one of them stepped forward to address the crowd. He was a wiry man, with long blond hair pulled back in a low ponytail and a wide, lazy grin. He was dressed as most of the other refs, in dark clothes with reflective yellow straps on his arms and legs and a bright yellow helmet tucked under one arm. Waving an arm to direct attention to himself, he started speaking as soon as the murmuring died down.

“Hey all, I’m Rolo and i’m going to be your head ref for the main event! First off, we wanted to give you all a look at the field you’ll be playing on this afternoon.” Behind the man the screen lit up, showing a bird’s eye view of a wooded area. Someone called something out in the front of the crowd, and the man responded with a chuckle, “Yes, that is a live feed from one of our pet drones, Beezer. Now, as you can see there’s plenty of wooded areas, and this field is huge! Once you get out of the woods and into the center, though…”

The view that had been lazily drifting in the frame sped up until the tree line thinned to show a large flat area filled with multiple different types of obstructions. Broken walls, some waist high and some higher, littered the field in random sequence, several rusted old cars sat wheel-less among shrubs and tall grass, and wooden planks boarded ditches wide enough for a person to hide in them. At the center of it all stood a wooden tower, open at the top with a flag waving on a pole.

“That’s your objective,” The man said, pointing at the screen. “Whoever holds the tower when the game is called, wins the game. We’re going to play as many games as we can manage between now and four o’clock, and whichever group wins the greater amount will get the prize - vouchers for five free entries to the park next year!”

There was a smattering of cheers and whoops, and Rolo waved them to attention again.

“Now, we’re going to separate the teams up – humans are going to be given red arm bands, and zombies are getting the green arm bands.”

“Humans and zombies?” Lance asked quietly, leaning in close to Keith.

“That’s right, I forgot to tell you,” Keith turned to him with a grin. “This part is humans vs. zombies. When buying tickets you could request what team you wanted to be on. We’re zombies.”

“Because you’re  _ brainless _ !” Pidge hooted from her seat on the table.

“Technically zombies have brains, they’re just too decomposed to be functional,” Matt said, wincing slightly as he fiddled with one of his hearing aids.

“In that case you should’ve picked them,” Pidge said cheerily. “You’d fit right in.”

Matt snorted and slapped her in the shoulder as she cackled.

“I am a human as well,” Shay said grinning, and Hunk pouted at her.

“I still don’t know why you’d pick human, it’s Halloween! You should let your inner feral monster out, Shay! Release the beast!” Hunk said enthusiastically, striking a claw-fingered monster pose.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Lance laughed. Throwing an arm around Hunk’s shoulders he pulled him closer, then threw his other arm around Keith. “You me and Keith are gonna show them how it’s done. I mean, I don’t know about you two but I could  _ definitely _ go for some brains right about now.”

“Fresh or fried?” Keith asked.

“Ooh, how about brain smoothies?” Lance answered back.

“Brain casserole,” Pidge supplied.

“How about no brains, ever?” Hunk asked, looking green around the gills.

“Watermelon jello mold brains?” Lance asked with a hopeful look.

“Watermelon is the worst jello flavor in the world, so no,” Hunk said with clear disgust.

“Isn’t there a bakery that makes brain cupcakes somewhere in your neighborhood?” Matt asked, testing the hearing aid he’d been fiddling with. He looked to Pidge for confirmation, and she gasped, eyes widening with glee.

“That’s right there  _ is _ ! We should get some when we head back, if they’re still open!” Seeing Hunk’s look of horror, she quickly added, “They’re, they’re not  _ actual _ brains. It’s just regular cupcakes with swirly pink frosting that looks like brains.”

“I could go for a brain cupcake right now,” Lance mused. “Or several.”

“You just ate a hamburger, two hot dogs, and half of my fries,” Keith said.

“Dessert, Keith. There’s always room for dessert.” Lance said seriously. Then he paused, and looked around as the crowd began milling around again. “Wait, we missed something. What did we miss?”

“There are people handing out the armbands,” Shay said, standing on her tiptoes and stretching out to look over all the heads. “I think they’re making their way through the crowd, so we don’t have to move.”

“So while the refs are doing that, let me tell you about a new addition this year,” Rolo called out, and they looked back towards him. A group of people walked on stage as he waved them on, dressed in various Halloween monster costumes – a werewolf, a swamp monster, something that looked like Cousin Itt with arms, an alien and a lizard man. “These are our monsters!” 

There was a cheer from the crowd, and the monsters all growled or howled or clawed the air in response.

“You can’t shoot the monsters, but they can catch you. They’ll all be armed with neon pink paint, and if they tag you with it you’re out!” Rolo said, and a hubbub arose. He grinned at the reaction, holding his hands out placatingly. “Okay, okay, calm down, you’re not out for good. Any time you’re tagged by a monster you have to take a one minute timeout. You’re allowed to go hide so you don’t get shot, but you can’t shoot and you can’t move more than ten feet, or the nearest obstacle, for that minute. But remember, monsters are free agents – they’ll tag any player they can reach, so use that to your advantage out there. Now go get ready, we’re starting in fifteen minutes!”

Those fifteen minutes passed in a rush of anticipation, and as soon as the refs had handed out all the armbands and made sure that everyone was ready, they headed to the large field. There were, more or less, about fifty people per group, and the refs had the zombies head for the far end of the field while the humans waited at the end nearer the courtyard. Lance insisted on being as close to the entrance on their end as possible, somehow managing to drag both Keith and Hunk to the front of the queue with sheer willpower. Keith could practically  _ feel _ him buzzing with excitement, and he himself was starting to feel it as well. As tiring as the morning games were, they were also a shit ton of fun and Keith had enjoyed every single second of them. He might’ve been bone-tired at lunch but he found his energy had spiked back, coursing through his veins, and he was grinning so hard in anticipation his face hurt.

“You ready buddy?” Lance asked, bumping his shoulder as they lined up along the fence just inside the entrance.

“As ready as you are,” Keith answered back. 

“Bet you can’t shoot half as many people as I can,” Lance said cheekily.

“Oh you’re on,” Keith said, shoving back against Lance’s shoulders. “I’ll get more than half.”

“We’ll see about that, pretty boy,” Lance sing-songed back - and before Keith could respond, they were off. 

The pace was frantic. Players streamed forward in a massive free for all, running across open space and dodging around obstacles in a desperate rush to get to the tower at the center. The field was far larger in life than it had looked like on the screen, and after a couple of minutes of running Keith still found himself among trees. Somehow he’d managed to keep track of Lance in the mad rush, aided by the fact that he was the only one wearing half a werewolf mask on his helmet, and he followed hurriedly after him as Lance advanced between the trees.

A shout rose from somewhere behind him, and suddenly the air filled with the soft  _ fwips _ as paintballs flew past, paint splattering against tree trunks around them.

“Run, Lance!” Keith called out, gun low as he dashed forward. Lance glanced back for a second, only long enough to make sure Keith was still following him, before leading the way towards a thicker stand of trees. They had to dodge some bushes and jump over a fallen trunk, but somehow they managed to make it to cover without being shot. Keith crouched down behind a leaning tree, glancing over at Lance who’d opted to stay standing behind a barely-wide-enough tree trunk. 

“What do we do?” Keith asked, peering out to see if he could catch a glimpse of the human team. 

“It looks like some of them decided to flank us, and they move fast,” Lance said, looking around at their surroundings. “I think I see a couple of people heading our way, but I can’t see their armbands yet. Let’s see…”  
Keith waited, anticipation tensing his muscles. He wanted to move, to get out there and find whoever it was trying to hunt them down. Logically, he knew rushing back the way they came would only put him in danger of being shot, and easily at that, but he couldn’t help but _want to_. Just, get up and start running and shooting at any person he saw. 

“Keith,” Lance said, voice low in warning, and Keith realized he’d started rising to his feet, had shifted just slightly forward of his hiding spot. Hurriedly, he angled back behind the tree trunk just as several figures came into view.

It took Keith a few seconds to find their armbands - but when he saw those splashes of red he grinned to himself and raised his gun to ready. The players moved warily, but it didn’t seem like they’d noticed Keith when he’d angled out of his hiding spot - which meant they’d be easier pickings. Keith hurried to aim and shoot, his bet with Lance not forgotten, but by the time he managed to pop off two shots, he heard Lance’s gun go off at least four or five times. The figures before them scattered, but out of the six or seven of them three stopped after a moment and held their hands up, walking back towards the fence with obvious regret. 

Keith grimaced; only one of them was shot by him, and that meant he was already a shot behind Lance. He didn’t have much time to think on that, however, because the remaining humans launched an attack back on them. Paintballs came whizzing through the air, and the tree Keith was hiding behind was suddenly far too small for comfort. He shot back hastily, aiming as best he could while also trying to remain hidden, but his shots seemed to be going wide and the opposing team’s shots felt like they were zeroing in on him. It was far too close for comfort - he could almost feel the paintballs, like they were just  _ barely _ grazing him. He couldn’t hold out in that hiding spot forever, something had to give-

Suddenly a loud yell reached them, and Keith could only watch, astonished, as Hunk’s large frame burst out of the bushes behind the human team members. He wasn’t even brandishing his gun, and he was running straight towards the stand of trees Lance and Keith were hiding in, arms and legs pumping wildly. It soon became apparent what he was running from, as several feet behind him the swamp monster and alien burst through bushes. The human team members hadn’t scattered far when Hunk appeared, and now they scrambled to get away, shouting curses as the monsters fell on them.

“GO GO GO GO!” Hunk yelled as he raced past, and Keith and Lance wasted no time in following. They ran like their lives depended on it, only slowing when it looked like they’d left the monsters far behind. 

Keith’s run in that match didn’t last much longer, however. The three of them met up with another group of zombies on the edge of the tree line, but by then the humans had overtaken the tower completely. As they tried to make the dash to hide behind the cars and fences littering the open field between the tree line and tower, Keith took a couple shots to the shoulder. 

“KEITH! I’LL AVENGE YOU I PROMISE!” Lance called as Keith headed off the field, hands up to keep so no one else would shoot him on the way back to the zombie’s entrance. A good deal of people were already waiting there, joking and laughing. 

“Hey, where’s the other wolfman?” A guy Keith didn’t recognize asked as he passed. 

“Still in there,” Keith answered, a bit surprised that someone had taken note of them well enough to remember. “A group of us got to the field by the tower, but the humans are inside it already.”

“Ugh, we need strategy, you know? Someone needs to come up with a plan,” The guy responded, then he turned to face the rest of the group and called out loudly. “Someone needs to come up with a plan!”

“Yeah, put your mushy zombie brains to work,” A familiar voice piped up from beside Keith, and he turned to find Pidge standing next to him. She grinned widely and punched him on the arm. “Good to see I’m not the only one already out in this match.”

“Are Shay and Matt still in?” Keith asked, and then a puzzled frown came to his face. “And why are you here? You’re supposed to be on the other side.”

“I got shot early and got bored waiting,” Pidge said with a shrug. “And yeah, I think they’re both still in.”

“Pidge, you’re out too?” 

They turned back towards the entrance to find both Lance and Hunk headed their way, paint splatters dotted across their chests.

“How far did you two get?” Keith asked.

“Almost to the tower, I got shot while running up but Lance made it to the steps.” Hunk said, pulling his mask off and wiping the sweat off of his forehead. 

“There were five of them camped out around the supports of the damn thing,” Lance said, grinning as he added, “I got two of them but, you know, three against one.”

“I tried to cover you, buddy,” Hunk said, and Lance gave him a fond grin.

“I know man, we’ll get ‘em next time.” His expression sharpened then into a smirk, and he turned to look at Keith. “You, on the other hand…”

“Shut up Lance,” Keith said with a frown.

“How many did you actually hit?” Lance continued, “Come on, you can tell me.”

“I’m not telling you.”

“We had a bet.”

“I’m counting all the matches today before I tell you.”

“Oh, come on… I got seven right now, so how far do you have to catch up? Huh?” Lance kept goading.

“A few,” Keith grumbled, and Lance shot him a knowing look. He bristled, glaring back at him. “Shut up, okay, I’m just… bad with guns, all right?”

“Give him a knife!” Pidge said with a grin.

“Yeah, give me a knife!” 

“Okay, no one here is giving anyone any knives, all right?” Hunk said, swiping his arms through the air like he was calling a strike.

“Well, you’ll still have a chance to catch up in the next matches,” Lance said, and damn but nothing could touch his cheery mood that day. Despite the ragging on his skills on the field, Keith couldn’t help but feel a bit proud of that fact. It was his idea to get them out there, and thanks to that Lance was having a good time. And maybe because of that, Keith could accept the fact that he probably wouldn’t get anywhere near the amount of Lance’s hits that day, because fuck it, they could do this again, they could come play paintball again any time they wanted and one day -  _ one day _ Keith promised himself - he’d catch up to Lance. 

 

In the end, the zombies won the last two matches they played - and Keith was even there for the last win, Lance having practically pulled him all the way to the tower as fast as they could move off the bat in the last match. Firing from the relative safety of the top of the tower proved far easier than when running through the forest and trying to outrun monsters, and once Lance had set him up in his corner Keith had made good use of his vantage point to take down as many human players as possible. Hunk had been right behind them on their way in, and he planted himself in a corner opposite Keith, mowing down the opposition and providing covering fire for any zombies making a rush to reach the safety of the tower. Together with the growing group of players, they held out until the very end.

Keith was openly happy about the fact that they’d won, and quietly happy about the fact that now he and Lance had won five free days to come back and play. Maybe he could get the others to come along as well, maybe they could make a day of it just for themselves, he thought on the drive back home. He’d let Matt have the keys and so he was free to let his mind wander across those possibilities. Keith found himself looking forward to that, looking forward to more times like these, not just in playing paintball but just  _ in general _ . Good times. He looked forward to good times. Good times with his friends, good times with Lance. And Lance... Lance had lain across the back seat almost as soon as they’d got in the car, plopping his head in Keith’s lap and letting out a pleased sigh when Keith’s fingers carded through his hair, and Keith would be lying if he said it didn’t tug at his heartstrings the way Lance was able to relax so completely around him.  

Yeah, Keith thought as he grinned down at Lance fondly, chest warming with emotion, there were plenty of good times to come, and he didn’t want to miss any of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review if you'd like! I adore hearing from you all!
> 
> And thank you for reading!


	12. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a primal reassurance in being touched, in knowing that someone else, someone close to you, wants to be touching you. There is a bone-deep security that goes with the brush of a human hand, a silent, reflex-level affirmation that someone is near, that someone cares.
> 
> ~Jim Butcher, White Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!  
> We're here! We've done it! The first installment of BloodCam is finished with this epilogue.  
> I really hope you enjoy, and I hope you stay for the following installments.  
> Yes, this is a series and will be updated under the series posting: [Blood Trails - BloodCam AU](http://archiveofourown.org/series/606355)  
> If you'd like you can check out the BloodCam playlist here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL1hNRQ3yNl2stGgYYyV08JN7cqpFU6cVM  
> Feel free to make suggestions if you want!
> 
> Anyways, enough - get to reading!
> 
> More notes at the end. :)

GlowStars (1.30pm): call me when u get off of work

 

That single line of text had been staring at Keith for the last stretch of his shift. He wasn't quite sure why it made him tense the way it did. Maybe it was just his general state of mind that week. He was a bit fuzzed again lately. Work was a non-stop parade of late trucks, missing trucks, irate shippers and receivers and foaming-at-the-mouth customers who somehow reached him in the dispatch and tracking department instead of their representatives in the offices, and his head was constantly  _ on _ . Even when he was off of work, it felt like his brain was tensed and waiting for the next call, like he couldn't focus on anything else. He wasn’t exactly surprised at the work load - Christmas was the next Thursday and everyone and their mother was trying to get things shipped and delivered before everyone closed down for the holidays. He would’ve appreciated a little less of the stress, however. He didn’t really celebrate Christmas, other than giving Pidge a gift and helping her decorate the apartment, and he’d gotten used to actually taking those holiday weeks easier. At least, he had been used to it before he landed the job in dispatch.

It was probably that stress that induced that weird detachment he was feeling again, or maybe the fact that even if he got out at two in the afternoon the sun barely lingered for long, and most of his days were dark and gloomy and felt biting cold even when he was inside. That, he thought, was probably why Lance’s text seemed so foreboding when all it was was a simple request.

Still, he couldn't help the way his heart stuttered when he called Lance, two steps out the door after finishin his shift and already holding the phone to his ear so hard it hurt. He didn't know  _ what _ his head was thinking but he knew it was anxious, a dark little cloud hovering over him just beginning to whisper  _ What if… _

“Hey darlin’,” Lance answered in a surprisingly good southern drawl, sounding like his usual cheerful self. The tension left Keith like a bandaid, ripped off clean and quick and leaving him suddenly loose climbed with the lack of it. He breathed out, a grin on his lips as he neared his car.

“Hey,” He said, relief probably far too evident in his voice but he couldn’t care. “What's up?”

“You wanna go grab dinner with a handsome fellow?” Lance asked, and Keith could hear the smirk in his words.

“I don't know. Who's the handsome fellow?” Keith responded, watching his breath mist in the air. 

“You wound me,” Lance said with a gasp, and Keith chuckled.

“No but seriously, you wanna grab something later?” Lance asked, and what kind of question was that?

“Sure,” Keith said. Of fucking course I do, he thought. “When do you want to meet up?”

“Six?” Lance asked. In the background Keith could hear the sound of something being dragged across the floor.

“Are you rearranging your living room  _ again _ ?” Keith asked, tone falling into annoyance. Lance and his insistence on rearranging  _ everything _ … Keith had been at Lance’s apartment two days earlier and Lance had made him move the couch AND the bookshelf around for over an hour. It took all of Keith’s honestly meager patience to keep from just storming out of there after thirty minutes. 

“No,” Lance responded, slightly breathless. “So does six work or…?”

“Yeah, that's fine,” Keith said, rolling his eyes. “Do you have someplace in mind?”

He got in the car and started it up as they talked, shuddering in the chill inside of it. He didn’t mind the cold as much as summer’s sweltering highs, but he was grateful all the same when the heater kicked on. Winter should come with snow, but the streets and sidewalks were bare in the bitter cold. Keith knew he should be happy there was no snow to shovel off of his car or tangle his commute, but he couldn’t be - not when the world looked so dreary and colorless outside his windows. He’d never quite gotten used to the dismal gray of cities in winter, far preferring the calm sight of snow spread over forests and fields. Not that he’d seen it often in his life - but often enough to know that he preferred it.

“I was thinking Enoteca?” Lance said casually. “My treat.”

Keith had to turn that thought over in his head a second, brows furrowed in surprise. Enoteca wasn’t exactly  _ pricey _ , and Lance wanted to go there for a while, but Keith still found it a bit surprising that Lance would suggest it. He'd often mention a ‘someday’ when talking about going out to any of the actual restaurants in the area, ‘someday’ being some far off, amorphous thing.  

“That sounds great,” Keith said, wondering how ‘someday’ became ‘today’. He certainly didn't mind.

“Awesome,” Lance responded happily, “I’ll see you at five then.”

“Yeah, see you then.” 

 

-

 

It was a good thing that Keith had decided on something other than his usual t-shirt and jeans that evening. There had been something about Lance’s request for dinner that had him wondering… usually they just texted to meet up, and it was the first time Lance had asked him to  _ call _ only to ask him to go to dinner. It felt a little weird. A nice weird. It felt like something special. 

So Keith had put on red button down with a black tank underneath, and his  _ nice  _ dark jeans that he only wore for special occasions. It wasn't anything fancy - but he looked good in the outfit and more importantly he felt comfortable in it. And now that they were at the restaurant, and Lance was taking off his jacket to tuck it Into the corner of the bench seating, Keith was glad he’d made the effort. 

Lance had a deep blue blue shirt on, the sleeves already rolled up to his elbows, and neat khaki cargo pants that somehow walked the fine line between casual and too-casual. He looked good, with the shirt accentuating his broad shoulders and trim waist  _ so well _ \- but that was no surprise, as Lance liked clothes that made him look good. Curiously, Keith couldn't remember this outfit, however. It wasn't like he had a mental record of Lance’s clothes in his mind, but he had helped him arrange his closet when he moved into the new apartment, and he was pretty sure he hadn't seen that shirt, or those pants, before. Maybe he just didn't remember - and that was the option he preferred, because otherwise it would mean Lance had bought them recently, and in his head the thought tickled that Lance had bought them  _ special for that dinner  _ and that made no sense whatsoever. 

“Where do you want to sit, bench or chair?” Lance asked, looking to Keith where he still hovered at the corner of their table. 

“I'll take the chair,” Keith said, pulling his own jacket off. Lance held out a hand for it, and tucked it into the corner with his own. He looked cheerful, the relaxed sort of cheerful where it looked like he'd had a good day and was expecting it to continue being good, and Keith felt stupid about worrying earlier. 

“So what's the occasion?” Keith asked as he sat, straightening the menu on the table in front of him and glancing at Lance.

“What, I need an  _ occasion _ to go out with my boyfriend?” Lance asked, folding his arms on the tabletop. Keith’s eyes lingered on them, on the pale lines crisscrossing his tan skin. He wanted to reach out and trace them, like he did when they were curled up in bed or bumping shoulders on the couch, to trace his fingers across them and feel Lance sigh softly, contently, next to him. He grinned back at Lance instead, basking in the easy warmth of his presence. It was easy, grinning at Lance, and his obvious enthusiasm for their outing eased Keith’s nervousness and settled his mind. 

“I guess you don’t,” He answered, and Lance responded with an easy grin.

 

 

Dinner passed quickly, Keith barely remembered ordering or getting his food. They chatted idly as they ate, sharing stories about their day, and maybe that was why he wasn’t coding any of it - because he was focused more on Lance than eating, more on keeping the conversation going, more on laughing and more on enjoying himself. And he was enjoying, himself, immensely, the stresses of the past weeks lifting off his shoulders. 

At one moment Lance pulled some napkins from the holder while they talked, unfolding one only to begin folding it again in sure, quick movements.

“You're good with your hands,” Keith noted out loud, though it wasn't the first time he'd thought that. There were times when Lance’s hands were twitchy, when they shook just a bit, when they seemed uneasy, but then there were times like  _ this one _ when they were precise in their movements, his fingers nimble and movements practiced. Watching as Lance’s deft fingers folded a napkin into a crane, Keith added, “You're good at so much.”

“And you're good at flying,” Lance responded almost reflexively, shrugging, and set the crane down in the middle of the table between them.

“And how does that help in the real world?” Keith asked. Lance opened his mouth, like he had a response, but it was obvious he didn't when nothing came out. He seemed puzzled by his own lack of words, closing his mouth with a frown wrinkling his brow. Keith shrugged, and answered his own question, “It doesn't.”

“Keith, I didn’t mean you’re good at flying  _ only _ ,” Lance said reassuringly, eyebrows still furrowed, “You're good at more than flying. You’re good at a lot of stuff.”

“It doesn't feel like it, not after…” Keith cut himself off, glaring down at his half-empty plate as he realized where his words were leading. When had his head taken that turn? Some days, he just couldn’t control what path it went down when he let himself loosen the reigns.

“Keith, honey, look at me,” Lance said, in a soft yet stern tone Keith couldn't ignore. He looked up begrudgingly, only to find Lance reaching an arm out across the table. When Keith didn't move, Lance wiggled his fingers, an expectant look on his face, and finally Keith sighed and reached out to take his hand.

“You're a good person,” Lance said with no preamble, moving to cup Keith’s hand with both if his. Keith snorted at his words, looking away, because  _ he knew himself _ and he was beyond lying to himself any longer - but Lance squeezed his hand gently and kept talking, “You are, I mean yeah you're sort of like a...I don't know, like a rolled up armadillo, and it's hard to get through to you and you don't open up easy. And when you do you still like, bite everything in sight…”

“You’re right, I sound awesome.” Keith said dryly.

“But you're a good person inside, Keith,” Lance rolled over his interruption. “You give a crap about people, you're always willing to help and you're well meaning…”

Keith knew these words; the echoes drifted slowly up from his memories, a voice he hadn't heard for so long repeating the same things Lance was saying to him -  _ you mean well and you care about others, you're a better person than you give yourself credit for _ . Keith braced slightly for the pain, the inevitable aftershock that would follow, but none did. 

It was warmth, instead, that flickered inside of him. He couldn't look at Lance, focused instead in their hands on the table, but that didn't stop the  _ emotion _ that swelled through him.

“Why are you doing this?” Keith huffed, uncomfortable with the emotion, with the way Lance’s fingers kept caressing his hand. His skin was prickling across his shoulders and down his spine, he felt like bolting even though he didn't know why. 

“Doing what?” Lance asked, and when Keith looked up there was an honestly puzzled look on his face. He dodged his glance to the side for a second, his brow furrowed in thought, then he looked back at Keith. “What am I doing?”

Keith had to chuckle at the sincerity in his tone, and he gave Lance’s hand a squeeze.

“Nothing, don't worry about it,” He said, breathing away the odd tension in his body. This wasn't the time for it, and the dinner was going so well, he was was enjoying himself and he was loathe to let it slip away. “I'm just…”

Lance’s puzzled expression gave way to concern at his words.

“Relax,” Keith said, grinning at Lance in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. He didn't want to ruin the moment they had, reached to find something to say to change the flow of conversation to something else. “This is nice, today is nice.”

Lance brightened at that, a pleased look on his face as he shot a crooked grin at Keith.

“I thought you might like it, there’s a lot of reasons why it’s awesome,” Lance said, “It's chill, not too bright or loud, the food’s good… I'm here.”

Lance winked at Keith, and Keith rolled his eyes. Lance was a dork, but he wasn't wrong. The restaurant was nice enough, with the music playing low so they could talk and subdued lighting that put Keith at ease. It was nice, but it was being there with Lance that actually made it enjoyable.

“I still feel like there's...something,” Keith said, eyeing Lance curiously.

“Something?” 

“Some occasion,” Keith clarified. 

“There's no occasion,” Lance laughed, but it sounded a little put on. He fiddled with Keith's fingers.

“No?”

“Nope,” Lance said, but Keith could see the blush on his cheeks, and he wasn't really meeting his eyes. 

“Lance, are you sure,” Keith said, although by then he was certain something was up. He wanted Lance to spit out, finally, just to say it because the anticipation was getting to be ridiculous.

“Okay. Well, I mean…” Lance looked at Keith for a second, eyes stormy with something unreadable, then looked away. Keith sighed, ready to - he didn't know, squeeze Lance’s hand until he finally spilled? Something. Right then their waiter stepped up to the table, and Lance reflexively pulled his hands away from Keith’s.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” The young man asked, smiling at them as he gathered their dishes. “Dessert, maybe?”

“Dessert sounds fantastic!” Lance grabbed at the opportunity a little too eagerly. Keith didn’t need to have perfect perception to realize that Lance was trying to get out of telling Keith anything. He smirked, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, perfect excuse to use for stalling.” 

“I am  _ not _ -” Lance protested, shooting Keith a dirty look. “I am NOT stalling. I'm not.”

“If I can suggest the tiramisu? Or perhaps the lava brownie cake with ice cream? You can usually spend quite some time finishing that one,” The waiter suggested with a grin. Keith, amused, looked to Lance to see his reaction, but rather than laughing or grinning, the other man had an oddly pensive look on his face. 

“You know what, we won't need dessert,” Lance said slowly, finally aiming a grin at the waiter. 

“Check then?”

“Please.”

Keith could definitely see now that Lance was nervous, what with the way his grin fell of his face a little too quickly after the waiter left and the way he began fiddling with the paper crane almost immediately after.

“Are you okay?” Keith asked, actually beginning to worry just a bit then. What could have Lance in such a nervous mood?

“Oh yeah, I'm good.” Lance replied, grinning at him, but that stormy look was still in his eyes. He put the crane down forcefully, its wings slightly rumpled.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Keith asked. 

“Not…”Lance paused, sighing as he looked around. “Not here. Let's for for a walk after this, yeah?”

“All right,” Keith agreed, and Lance shot him a thankful grin. They headed out as soon as Lance had paid the bill, Lance linking his hand with Keith’s as he led the way down the sidewalk. There were crowds about, even with the chill in the air, and at several of the bars and pubs they passed spilled music onto the street each time their doors opened. There seemed to be a show at the local music bar, as people were lined up outside of it, and they had to skirt around the edges to get past the crowd.

Keith wasn’t quite sure where Lance was taking him, but it turned out that there was a park nearby. It wasn’t too far away from the main streets, and yet somehow the ever-present murmur of voices and cars seemed to fade into the background as they entered. They walked to it in a comfortable silence tinged only the slightest bit with anticipation. It was a bit after eight and as they left the glow of streetlamps and storefronts behind the darkness closed in around them. Keith glanced up at the sky as they headed down the path - but this deep in the city it was near impossible to make out any stars. He thought he could see Venus, a bright unwavering dot of light hovering over the treetops, but the rest of the sky was a murky dark. Sometimes he missed the unending view of stars above head, the almost unreal glow and glitter of the milky way spreading across the midnight sky. It had always helped to center him, somehow. Sometimes, he’d just lose himself in the view, let the star light soak into his skin as he trembled in the chill air. How could anything  _ mean _ anything when there was so much out there, when the universe was so large and old and he was just the tiniest of specks among its vastness. It didn’t give him perspective so much as it gave him a reason to drift, because what could it matter? What could  _ he _ matter?

Maybe he didn’t miss that quite as much as he thought he did.

“What did you want to talk about?” Keith asked finally, slowing to a stop. They’d made it to the fountain at the center of the park, and while there were a few people sitting on benches around it they were all far away, and Keith figured if there was any time to find out what was up with Lance it was then.

“Yeah, so,” Lance turned to face Keith, a shy smile on his face. “I just, uh, wanted to ask you something…”

His voice trailed off towards the end, and right then he was so different from his usual confident, brash self that Keith was so used to that it caught Keith off guard. Lance didn’t look like he had anything horrible on his mind, but the way he was just  _ barely _ meeting Keith’s eye, the way he seemed to be thinking something over felt so odd. Keith almost felt… distant, right then, like he was on the edge of something and Lance was deep deep within it.

“Lance, is everything okay?” Keith asked, his voice wavering just the slightest. Lance had let go of his hand as they neared the fountain, and Keith desperately wanted to reach out and take it again. He gripped the edges of his jacket sleeves instead, steadying himself.

“Yeah, yeah everything’s good,” Lance said quickly, still grinning, “Everything’s fine I just… I wanted to ask you something, and… uh, well… fuck, I had this planned out but I sort of forgot… how I was going to start it.”

“Just say it, Lance,” Keith said, maybe a bit too sharply so he hurried to add in a softer tone, “It’s okay. Whatever it is.”

“Uh, yeah, okay,” Lance said, and took a deep breath, let it out. He looked at Keith for half a moment, then glanced away like he was trying to see if they were alone. His gaze returned to Keith slowly as he started to speak. “Okay so, like next week is Christmas? And… and I usually take a break from the show during this time, right, a couple of weeks. Just… Hunk and Shay always invite me over for Christmas and then New Years there’s always a party somewhere and, y’know, sometimes a guy just needs a breather and it’s not like the people who watch don’t have lives, probably…”

Lance stopped his rambling with a frustrated noise, closing his eyes as if he was trying to recollect his thoughts. He opened them back up and looked at Keith, almost desperately, as if staring at Keith would somehow keep him from going off topic.

“So I… I usually just have a show the friday before Christmas, but this year I thought that maybe… maybe I could record a show, and have it available for a pay per view thing over the next weeks,” Lance explained, a mix of hopefulness and anxiousness on his face that almost made him look like he was getting sick.

“Do...do you want me to help with things?” Keith asked, a little surprised by the request - not because he wasn’t expecting it, but because he was  _ already _ helping Lance with his shows some weeks. It didn’t seem like something Lance should be so worked up about - he had to know Keith would say he’d help.

Lance’s expression, however, spoke a different story - he looked even more nervous, and Keith was starting to wonder if he was  _ actually _ going to be sick. He’d never seen Lance get physically ill from, well, anything, but he supposed there was always a first time for everything. 

“N-no, I mean, yes, I mean,” Lance bit his lip, pulling in a deep breath through his nose, and then spoke in one, long rush, “I wanted to ask you to help in the show like the actual show not just after but like during it basically I wanted to ask if you’d want to cut me.”

Keith blinked, a little dumbly, at Lance. Lance bit his lip again, eyebrows furrowing in worry, and the only thing Keith could think of doing that moment was reaching out to touch his face. 

“Don’t bite your lip that hard, you’ll make it bleed,” He said, trying to physically smooth Lance’s lips. His words were still in Keith’s head, revolving slowly, the meaning a bit too large for him to process right away. He was getting there, but it was taking awhile to understand. Or rather, he understood, but… Lance wanted him to cut him. He wanted him to cut him. Keith felt himself shuddering, but it was inside, somewhere in his chest and in his head, his pulse suddenly sounding heavy and loud.

“Keith,” Lance whimpered, finally letting his lip loose but now visibly trembling instead. Keith didn’t like that, he didn’t like how Lance suddenly looked so small, so vulnerable. He didn’t like the way he looked so scared. What did he think Keith would say? What had he imagined Keith’s reaction would be? And Keith knew he had to respond, because Lance’s face had fallen.

“You actually want me to…” Keith started. Lance’s eyes were focused on his intently, as if he was trying to read Keith’s mind through them. Keith forced himself to speak, to make the words come out around the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, his voice wavering, “You actually...trust me that much?”

A small, hesitant smile came to Lance’s face, and he took half a step forward, his hands twitching at his sides like he’d wanted to reach out to Keith but held back at the last moment. 

“Yeah.”

Keith’s hands were still on Lance’s face, and he moved them gently to cup at the back of his neck. The air was still chilly, but he could barely feel it, he could barely feel anything outside of the mass of warmth between them right then. Lance trusted him that much - Keith thought there was a name to that swell of emotion that seemed to gather around them like a cocoon, that was filling him up to the point it felt like he would burst, shooting tranquil sort of energy through him, down to the tips of his fingers and his toes and across his skin.

He knew what it was, and his heart ached in such a painfully sweet way.

“Okay.”

 

-

 

Keith had been nervous, obviously, and he woke up the next morning to a sinking feeling in his gut as he remembered what he'd agreed to do. It wasn't that he didn't want to - no, a burning anticipation woke within him when he thought of it, a miniature giddy head-rush hit him when he realized what he’d be doing, but it was almost overwhelmed by the very real and worrisome thought that he could fuck it up in some way. In some horrible, horrible way.

What if his hand twitched? What if he pressed too hard? What if he cut too deep or too wide, what if he didn't notice Lance’s cues and actually, really  _ hurt _ him?

Lance had promised to help him prepare, to show him how it was done, but still Keith felt uncertainty coil deep and unsettling in his mind. He didn't hesitate in heading over to Lance’s apartment after work, however. They only had a couple more days to prepare before the show, and he wanted to be sure he was prepared.

Lance greeted Keith cheerfully at the door, tugging him inside with a hand on his arm and a kiss on the cheek. He looked happy, and Keith fought back the sudden rush of nervousness so he could grin back at him.

“You ready to practice?” Lance said with a grin, leading the way into the kitchen, his hand now holding Keith’s.

“As I'll ever be,” Keith replied. Lance paused by the kitchen table, and Keith noticed with a start that there was a knife waiting on the table, placed on a large wooden cutting board.

No, not just a knife,  _ his _ knife. The familiar wooden handled, thin bladed knife that Lance had always used for his requests, that he still used even though Keith had stopped requesting anything, used just because he could, just because he wanted to put something personal in the show. Just because he knew Keith appreciated it.

“I just thought it'd be appropriate, you know,” Lance said as he stepped behind Keith to put his arms around Keith’s waist, his voice soft and his breath warm against Keith's ear. 

“I..” Keith hesitated, surprised by the depth of emotion welling inside of him. This was special, this knife was special and this moment was special and… He’d never pried about Lance’s knives, never asked to see them, having always felt like there was something personal there he couldn’t touch. But here one was, and Lance wasn’t just showing him, he was offering him the knife, he was offering to let Keith use the knife to cut him and...and the  _ trust _ in that was nearly enough to make Keith stumble to his knees right then and there. His heart was beating hard and fast in his chest, and he was certain Lance could feel it through his back, feel every rushed thump. Slowly, almost reverently, he reached out to touch the wooden handle, run his fingers over the smoothly worn edge of it. A tremor passed through him, and for a moment his nerves subsided as the anticipation grew, as his senses responded to the knowledge that this -  _ this _ \- was the knife Lance had first used to cut himself for Keith. And this was the one he continued using, and… and Lance had held it, in his hands, and it had gotten blood on it … Keith’s thoughts were beginning to jumble together, his fingers aching to grab hold of that handle and hesitant all the same.

“Ugh, just pick it up already,” Lance said, giving Keith a little push with his whole body and knocking him out of his tumbling thoughts.

“It’s just…” Keith said softly, finally taking hold of the knife and lifting it in front of him. “...a moment.”

Lance snorted, amused, into his neck, but stayed silent while Keith felt the weight of the knife in his hand. Light glinted sharply off the blade, and the wooden handle sat comfortable, and somehow warm, in his hand. 

“You know how to pick ‘em,” Lance muttered, pressing a light kiss to Keith’s neck before patting his sides and stepping away. Keith glanced over to see him open the fridge and pull a large item wrapped in white paper from it. 

“What’s that?” Keith asked, and Lance smirked at him as he came back to the table.

“This is what you’re going to be practicing on.”

“This”, it turned out, was a several-pound large side of pork with the skin intact. It sat on the cutting board, looking alien and shapeless and a little distressing. It wasn’t so much the meat; Keith was no stranger to hacking meat up, though he usually preferred when it was hacked up already. It was more the thought that the pale skinned, pink fleshed hunk of pig in front of him was supposed to somehow help him prepare for that friday’s recording.

He hadn’t been able to come up with an idea of what Lance had in mind in terms of preparing, but if he had he was certain that  _ this _ wouldn’t have been it.

“Pigs have skin that’s pretty damn close to human skin in structure,” Lance said conversationally, poking at it as if to prove it. “I figured this could help you learn, you know, how much pressure is enough, and what’s too much. To get a feel for it.”

“Huh,” Keith said, “Have you tried it?”

“No,” Lance said, and shrugged. “Kinda got the practice with myself, right? But I think it’ll give you an idea, at least.”

“Huh.” Keith said again, and looked down at the knife in his hand. “We’re going to be using the same knife on friday? What about bacteria?”

“Yes, same knife because it’s your first time and you need to know how it handles,” Lance said easily, “And I’ve got an autoclave for sterilization, remember?”

That was right, Lance had shown it to him even after one of his shows. Keith had completely forgetting about it, but that was probably because Lance didn’t use it all that often. 

“Okay.” Keith said, weighing the knife in his hand. He looked at Lance and motioned at the meat in front of him with the knife. “Should I start or…?”

“Make a cut first, at the edge so we can use the whole length of it,” Lance said, leaning against the table with one hip.

Keith did as he was told. He tried to be gentle, unsure of just how the blade would cut. His first pass, however, ended up being  _ too  _ gently, the blade barely cutting into the first layer. Lance snorted at that, and Keith scowled as he lined the knife up again. This time, the cut went deep, cutting well past the skin and deep into the meat below it.

“Oh no, what have you done?” Lance said with a dramatic gasping gurgle, “Too deep, too deep! I’m hemorrhaging!”

“Oh my god  _ shut up _ !” Keith snapped at him, unable to keep from huffing in laughter before he caught himself. Lance was chuckling, grin wide as he rested his forehead against Keith’s shoulder.

“All right, but seriously,” Lance coughed away the last of his chuckles, “Too deep. You gotta just…  _ feel it _ .”

“Really, that’s all there is too it?” Keith muttered, “Feeling it?”

“Here, let me show you.”

Lance placed his hand over Keith’s on the knife’s handle, and gently placed the knife blade on the skin. 

“Watch the indent, see,” Lance explained, “You can sort of see how much pressure you’re putting into it if you look at it. Too much and the blade sinks too deep; no pressure at all, and you barely cut. And remember, these blades are sharp so you only need a little bit of pressure, just a little dip…”

And Keith could sort of see it, just the hint of a depression, before Lance was gently and smoothly pulling his hand back, the skin on the pork loin splitting in its wake. It was a perfect depth, the first layer of skin cut while the lower layers remained untouched.

“There you go, now keep practicing,” Lance said softly, bumping his head against Keith’s. Like a cat. Keith grinned to himself as he lined the knife up again, and continued to practice.

 

-

  
  


The days melted into each other in a dizzying mix of work and Lance’s apartment, of hoping work would finish faster and wishing his time spent planning with Lance lasted longer. It was a  _ rush _ \- one Keith willingly let sweep him up in a dizzying ride of energetic expectation. By the time Friday came he was practically buzzing with the anticipation. He headed to Lance’s apartment directly after work, his heart drumming inside his chest. He tingled, in a weird low voltage way, he felt energized. The whole ride over he felt like he was vibrating in his seat, like he'd had too much caffeine, too much sugar, and his body couldn't contain itself. 

Lance was waiting when he let himself in, cocking a grin at him from where he was sprawled on the couch in a loose tank and boxer shorts. The apartment was already almost too warm for comfort; Lance had wanted to start as soon as they could, as soon as Keith was ready. Keith hadn't objected before and he certainly didn't object now, not with the rush inside of him pulsing through his veins and thrumming in his head. He wasted no time pulling his jacket and hoodie off to stow in the closet, kicking his boots off to leave at the doormat.

“Here,” Lance said once Keith turned back to face him, and tossed something at him.

Keith caught the bulky object on reflex, fingers gripping on black leather. It took him a moment to realize what it was - a gas mask. A nice one, not as stylistically streamlined as Lance’s but still pretty, with darkly tinted lenses and chrome accents on the filters. 

“It's my old one, the one I used to use for the shows,” Lance explained, stretching his arms above his head before crossing them behind it. “I cleaned it up for you.”

Lance had told Keith he'd give him his own mask to preserve anonymity, but Keith hadn't expected it to be his old gas mask. He turned it over in his hands, eyeing it with interest. He’d never seen it before; Lance had been wearing his new mask the first time Keith had watched his stream, and he’d kept the first mask put away since then. The one Keith held was a bit heftier than Lance’s current gas mask, the lenses a little bug eyed and the shape bulkier than the other, but it felt… it felt  _ good _ in Keith’s hands. He liked the weight of it. He liked the implications of it.

Grinning, he looked over at Lance, and Lance pushed himself off the couch and onto his feet.

“So,” Lance asked, his voice low and his eyes glittering eagerly as he stepped over to Keith. “You ready?”

  
  


They’d planned it out over the past couple of days, but talking had nothing on the actual experience. Talking was just words, and where they were now was so much more than that.

Because there they were, with Lance kneeling on the bed before Keith, thighs splayed and arms behind his back. His wrists were held by trick handcuffs - a safety precaution Keith insisted on when Lance had laid out the plan that Lance had reluctantly agreed to. He’d wanted real ones.

Keith was dressed not much differently than he normally would be, in dark jeans and a black t-shirt, with the addition of the gas mask. Lance had decided that less would be better, that the more nondescript he was the more the viewers would get into it. Something about having a  _ figure _ more than a person to project onto. Keith didn’t argue - this was Lance’s expertise, after all, and honestly he felt just a tad better being clothed for the show. The idea of having to expose any of himself to random strangers online was a little unnerving. 

He wasn’t thinking of those strangers right then, however. Lance was before him, exposed and vulnerable looking sitting as he was, as gorgeous as he ever was during a show. More so, maybe, in Keith’s eyes right then, because he was  _ right there _ , in front of him, body cast in sharp relief thanks to the lighting, sweat just beginning to glisten across his shoulders and down his chest from the heat. He seemed somehow more than he was usually, right then, Keith didn’t know how it could happen but it felt like his whole world was suddenly nothing but  _ Lance _ . He couldn’t breathe, almost, couldn’t hear past the pounding of his pulse in his head. 

And Lance waited, his breathing even and his head cocked. Keith couldn’t see his eyes through the tinted lenses, but he thought he could feel Lance’s gaze on him, laser focused. He was waiting, and Keith knew he should move, should start, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from him, couldn’t keep from tracing the lines of his scars across his body. He breathed in deeply and slowly, then let it out. He knew he needed to focus on starting, to actually  _ begin _ but he found himself from reaching out instead, from trailing his fingers across Lance’s skin. He traced down along the line of the autopsy scar over his right clavicle, still visible and raised slightly, feeling the smoothness of it under his fingertips. Lance made a sound, deep in his throat, and Keith grinned. His hands drifted lower, trailing along the scars crisscrossing Lance’s stomach. Lance’s skin was warm beneath his touch; pliant,  _ inviting _ . 

The whole moment seemed a bit surreal - Keith felt somewhat outside of himself, as if he was distanced from what he was doing - and yet he felt every second. There he was, he’d touched Lance so many times after a show, trailed his fingers across drying blood but here,  _ here _ was Lance uncut. Here was Lance, waiting for  _ him _ to cut him. The gravity of the moment wasn't lost on Keith. This was a very real sort of intimacy, and intimacy he could never have imagined achieving with  _ anyone _ . The trust…

Keith ran his hands across Lance’s body again, and Lance pushed back into his touch. Fuck, he could feel him breath, feel the hitch as Keith’s fingers brushed over his nipples. Keith grinned to himself, let his hands rise further until they cupped around Lance’s neck, his thumbs resting in the hollow below his throat. 

Lance whimpered, almost too quietly to be heard from behind the gas mask but Keith felt it beneath his fingertips. He wiggled under Keith’s hand impatiently, and Keith chuckled. 

“What, do you want something?” He asked, feeling a surge of...something, something hot and something on the cusp of  _ wrong _ . No… not wrong, but… 

“You don’t have to drag it out,” Lance replied, not bothering to hide the neediness in his voice. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Keith said, voice low as he ran one hand back down along Lance’s side. Lance made a frustrated noise, tried to press against Keith’s hand but Keith pulled it away before he could. Fuck, but Keith was enjoying this. The feeling of being… it felt weird, in a way, to say it but the feeling of being in control of the situation, the feeling of knowing he could give Lance what he wanted. It was an amazing feeling. It was terrifying, but  _ amazing _ , and he wanted to just wallow in it a bit, just let the emotion fill him up to the brim. It felt so fucking good.

“Is this what you want?” Keith asked, holding the knife up in his other hand. He twisted it slightly in the air so the light glinted off the blade, and Lance squirmed again.

“Yes,” Lance hissed, and Keith couldn’t help but chuckle again. He didn’t know where his nerves had gone, how he’d suddenly replaced the anxiousness and the worry with this sure confidence and this need to make use of the situation before him. He wasn’t sure of how he could be this person, when he’d never been this person before, and part of him wondered…

But that was a very small part of him, one that wasn’t involved in what was happening, and it was easily ignored.

“You’re impatient tonight,” Keith said, not ungently. He shifted closer to Lance, only just remembering to leave enough room so that the camera could catch what he was doing. It wasn't just  _ them _ that night, even if it felt like it was. 

Slowly he raised the knife’s blade to Lance’s chest, hovering it just above his skin. Lance whimpered again, the sound fading into a soft whine as he strained to meet the blade, muscles in his arms flexing as though he wanted to reach out and take hold of the knife himself. Keith savored the moment, used it to breathe, to steady himself. Then he pressed the blade against Lance’s chest. 

Lance froze, his breath stilling, waiting for Keith to move and Keith could swear he felt Lance’s heart beating through the knife, reverberating through the blade to his hand. This was it,  _ this was it _ , and holding his own breath Keith  _ cut _ .

Slow and steady, with the lightest pressure he could manage, and tan skin parted beneath the blade effortlessly, pinpricks of blood dotting the cut behind it as Keith pulled the knife down along Lance’s chest. His heart fluttered, throat catching for the first several breaths as a dizzying rush shot through his head. He almost couldn't breathe, almost, his hand shook slightly as he pulled the knife away. Lance moaned, low and deep, his head tilting back slightly, and Keith couldn't stop himself from reaching out with his free hand to touch the cut he had made  _ \- he had made _ \- to pull his finger down along the length and gather the welling blood, warm and slippery, on it. 

Lance moaned again, but it was a desperate sound, breathy and light and pleading. Keith responded almost on reflex, as if that noise held some sort of command in it that his mind understood. He held the knife to Lance’s chest again, next to the first cut, and put his free hand on Lance’s waist. He didn't know for what, to pull him closer or to steady himself, but it felt good to feel him firm and warm under his palm.

Again Keith cut, with a little more pressure this time, and the blood gathered faster. He was starting to feel bold, an energy coursing through his body, electrifying him. The blood welled dark red and gorgeous, bright and deep in the strong lighting, and Keith was hit with the urge to  _ lick it _ it was so close and  _ he  _ was so close and… and he breathed, moving his free hand again to smear the blood across Lance’s skin. Lance was breathing heavily already, muttering a low “fuck  _ yes _ ” as Keith pressed his fingers against the two cuts again. The skin parted just the slightest under his touch, the fresh blood growing sticky upon meeting the drying blood on his fingers. The feeling sent a shuddering thrill through him, a need for more,  _ more _ -

And Lance wanted it. Keith could feel it, the way he pressed against Keith’s fingers; he could hear it in his low whimpers, needy and breathless. For a moment Keith let his hand rest above Lance’s heart to feel the beat of it, rushed and strong. Then he trailed his hand down lower to Lance’s stomach and touched the blade to the other side of Lance’s chest. Lance stiffened against it, a low litany of “ _ yes yes yes _ ” just barely escaping the confines of his gas mask - and Keith drank it in, savored the feel of being able to give Lance exactly what he wanted. 

And he cut - over and over, spreading the blood in all its gory glory across Lance’s body like he was painting. And Lance  _ was _ a masterpiece, a glorious canvas of debauchery, his head tilting back as he let Keith trail bloodied fingers up his neck. He trembled beneath Keith’s touched, running  _ hot _ and Keith couldn’t get enough of him, his brain running into sensual overload, into a haze of sensation - he felt like he was drowning, but a good drowning. A welcome drowning. Like he was feeling and seeing and hearing but everything was magnified and every touch was fire and every sound was electric.

“Take ‘em off…” Lance whimpered, rolling his head to try and rub it against Keith’s hand.

“Already?” Keith asked in a low voice. His eyes trailed across Lance’s body - and fuck he hadn’t noticed just how much he had done, hadn’t perceived it until just then. Cuts littered his torso, stretched across his stomach and up and down his sides. Keith dropped the knife he still held, blood sticky on his palm, and touched his fingers to a particularly long cut just above Lance’s hipbone. It was openly bleeding, gloriously large trails of ruby streaking down to the band of his blue briefs, and Keith followed the trails with his fingertips, smearing them all the more. Lance groaned in response, hips jerking reflexively to the touch. Keith was still surprised at just how aroused Lance could get from the pain of the cutting, just how  _ hard _ he already was without a single touch.

“Take them  _ off _ ,” Lance insisted in a growl, his rough tone breaking at the end when Keith’s fingers brushed back up over the cut. He moaned, pleaded again, “Take them off…”

“Demanding, huh,” Keith responded, barely managing to keep himself from reaching back around Lance and pulling the handcuffs off right then and there, wanting to hear the pleased sound he  _ knew _ Lance would make. They’d gone over this part before starting, Lance had told him what he wanted and what he wanted was to have Keith make him work for it. “And no manners.”

“Just _ do it _ ,” Lance growled again, but it was a pitiful attempt with his voice wavering like that, rising a bit too high at the end. Keith ran the hand at Lance’s neck down across his body instead of responding, hooking at every cut he could along the way, running fingertips across each one and Lance whined, high pitched and desperate, finally choking out a wrecked “ _ Please _ .”

“What was that?” Keith asked, breathlessly, trying to play the game just like he was supposed to even though he had to grip Lance’s waist tight to keep his hands from giving him what he wanted. “I d-didn’t hear you.”

“ _ PLEASE _ ,” Lance choked out louder, “Please take them off please  _ please please _ …”

Keith only held out a second longer, and then he was leaning forward, mask knocking against Lance’s as he tried to press his face to Lance’s neck. His breath was coming fast, the air stagnant and humid inside the gas mask, as he fumbled behind Lance to find his hands, to find the handcuffs and the release levers.

“Yes yes  _ fuck yes _ ,” Lance hissed as he pulled his hands free, and Keith shifted slightly to the side so Lance could reach himself, one arm behind Lance’s back while he reached out to touch Lance’s chest with his other hand. Lance gave a low moan, leaning heavily against Keith as he jerked himself off. Keith could feel Lance breathing against his chest, feel his body shuddering against his own, his own head gone somewhere far away, his pulse pounding in his ears. He’d never expected to be so affected by the...the whole experience. Never expected to feel it _ so much _ but he thought it might’ve been different if it was anyone else. It might not have felt the same if it wasn’t Lance because… because Lance was  _ everything _ . Because Lance trusted him  _ so much _ . Because Lance cared about him and Lance had never given up on him and Lance had tried so hard and Keith didn’t think he deserved it, any of it, but he was so fucking… so fucking overwhelmed by what they had. By what it all meant. Not long ago he had no idea who Lance was and now he couldn’t imagine living without him. He couldn’t see a future before him where they weren’t together, and fuck, he wanted it. He wanted it so badly, he wanted to be with Lance as long as he could, he never wanted to let him go, he never want to let what they had die he never-

\- Keith barely had a moment to register that Lance was done, that it was  _ over _ , before Lance was tugging at the straps of his gas mask. He was caught off guard by the sudden shift in their positions, and the force of Lance’s tugging pulled Keith closer to him sharply. He had to throw out his arms and brace himself against Lance’s shoulders to keep from falling into him, his hands gripping maybe a bit too tight as Lance’s tried to undo the straps.

“Get it  _ off _ ,” Lance growled, breathless and insistent, and Keith steadied himself so he could reach up to the straps himself, heart pounding hard and fast in his chest. Lance was pulling his own mask off as Keith got his loosened, and the moment he got the gas mask off Lance was  _ there _ \- arms around his neck, kissing him over and over and over, body pressed as tight against Keith’s as he could manage, as if he was trying to get inside him, as if he was trying to become a part of him.

“Keith-” He breathed between kisses, emotion weighing his voice breathless and desperate “- you’re  _ amazing _ you’re - fucking - you’re… I - I just -  _ Keith _ ” he whimpered, as if the words were lost to him, as if he couldn’t find a way to say it, his words falling half-way into sobs as he repeated “- Keith,  _ Keith _ -”

Keith wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close, gave up on trying to follow the frenzied kisses Lance pressed to his lips, to his face and his neck as his fingers tangled in Keith’s hair. He felt so overwhelmed, so  _ full _ , from the attention, from the weight of what he’d just been thinking and what was still swirling in his mind - he never thought - fuck he felt like he was going to  _ cry _ he didn’t cry but - he’d never thought he’d find someone like Lance, never thought he’d find someone who made him feel so whole, never thought he could ever mean it so  _ wholly and deeply _ when he said…

“Lance,” His voice wavered as he tried to pull back, just a little, just enough to look Lance’s in the face. “It’s okay…”

And Keith might not have been crying but Lance was, glistening tear trails down his cheeks, his eyes so big and blue and so  _ open _ as he looked back at Keith, something like awe deep, deep within them, something like-

“Lance, I… I love you.”

For a moment time seemed to stop - everything was still, everything was quiet like existence itself stood wavering on the edge of a knife’s blade.

Then Lance heaved a sob, shoulder’s shaking as a new wave of tears streamed down his face, and threw himself at Keith to bury his face against Keith’s neck, his fingers twisting painfully in his hair, voice cracking as he fervently whispered back,

“I-I love you too.  _ Keith _ , I love you...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'd like to thank you all very, VERY much for your support throughout this story!  
> It's thanks to you all that this was written, and thanks to you that I have the urge to finish out the rest of this AU.  
> I hope you've enjoyed the ride, and if you'd like stick around for the next installments. There will be two more stories in the series : Hematoma and Aftercare. Both will have less bloodplay than this story, just due to the plots that happen. Hematoma will have several instances, while Aftercare will only have a couple, although the bloodplay will be referenced.  
> I'm also planning on several shorts, especially one from Lance's POV and possibly Hunk and Pidge, as well as another short from Keith's POV on how Pidge got him to move cross-country with her.
> 
> Thank you again. Thank you. I don't know, I could thank you all for ages.  
> And as always, please let me know what you thought. :)
> 
> If you ever want to find me, these are the places! My tumblr is all over the place with topics, and my twitter is pretty much all Voltron.
> 
> Tumblr: [JustBloodCamThings on Tumblr](http://justbloodcamthings.tumblr.com)  
> Twitter: [itsdetachable on Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/itsdetachable)

**Author's Note:**

> Let me tell you my pals writing something even vaguely sexual is really hard when you're uh... disinterested for the most part in sexual things.  
> And yes, i'll reiterate, Keith is getting a mental high in this but its not in regards to a sexual thing. It's like... paraphilias, they're a weird beast... and this is like.. mental paraphilia...


End file.
